The Fold
by TheShakespeareCode
Summary: King Brandon the Broken must form an alliance through marriage. As if that were not asking enough of the "strange" young king, it must be to Robin Arryn. Politics, dragons, and a deadly new machine, cast shadows over the kingdoms. Both must learn to be a little more human-or, even, a little more humane-if they hope to hold a precarious realm together. The game is not over yet...
1. The Fold

**Hello! I hope you enjoy my latest attempt at fanfiction. Will be updated regularly until it is finished-promise. I can normally manage a chapter a day, so I will do my absolute best (though school is a thing that exists, sadly). Thank you for reading, and do check back for more! xxx**

**The Fold**

* * *

_The Red Keep_

* * *

Samwell Tarly had undergone a seismic change whilst serving the new Seven-_Six _Kingdoms. The one constant in his life, that which was closest to his heart-with the exception perhaps of Gilly and little Sam-had been entirely altered in his eyes. He had grown quite used to traipsing to the royal chambers in the Red Keep several times a day, carting a large quantity of thick tomes with him. These books, the books in which he had buried his nose since he had first learned to read letters, the books which had literally saved his life on more than one occasion…suddenly, they were as footnotes to the true enormity of history.

Sam had believed that books could tell a person everything he needed to know; if you could only find the right page, the right line, the right sentence, you could save the world. Or change it. He had done both…but, upon becoming maester to the new king, he had realised how naïve he had been. Of course. Books were only ever half of the story. A story, for the most part, only ever told by the rich and the powerful, in exactly the way they wanted it told. Endless omissions had been made to history itself, endless perversions and misinterpretations of facts to suit whichever arbitrary agenda suited the ruling class.

Brandon Stark, however, dealt only in the truth.

"Has it been found?"

Hardly had Sam pushed his laden cart into the privy chamber when the new king addressed him without greeting. Bound by convention, whether it seemed to mean anything to Brandon the Broken or not, Sam made a shallow bow-before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace."

Without hesitation, Sam picked up the heaviest and oldest of his books and lay it open upon the king's desk, which was already strewn with papers. From his wheeled wooden chair, Brandon looked on, his dark eyes filled with a kind of intensity that no man could know.

"Look," Sam flipped through the book until he reached the page he had marked earlier that morning-or, rather, the lack of it. For all that remained of page 1013 was a tattered margin, lined with sooty black. The rest of the page had been burned away. Lost to the ashes. "Nothing remains." Sam sighed, his heart heavy. "Who would do such a thing to a book?"

Brandon made no sign of disappointment; though, frankly, his face seldom changed at all these days. It was impossible to read him, to know exactly what the young, and yet so very old, king was thinking.

"I've searched everywhere," Sam went on, his fingers tracing the burned edge. "I've written to the Citadel. Monkoen made only one copy, and I have it here."

"Monkoen may have been a raving lunatic," came a sharp voice from the corner of the room. Wearing an expression of frustration upon his scarred face, Tyrion Lannister stepped forward. He took a thoughtful sip from the goblet in his hand before he spoke. The Hand's badge glinted unwillingly on his chest. "But he wasn't stupid. He could have been an Archmaester, were it not for his…private life. I refuse to believe there is only one copy."

"There is only one…" said Brandon, his voice rather vague. "There was only ever one…"

Tyrion marched forward, as if seeing the vandalism with his own eyes would change things…but it was not so. The missing page did not materialise.

"Well, well." he murmured, stroking his beard. "I wonder how hard I would have to pray to the gods for a slightly easier life…"

"Your life has never been easy." Brandon's piercing eyes suddenly fell upon his Hand, as if staring right into his soul. "That is why you are here."

Tyrion was silent for a moment, his eyes shut. It was as if, for a few, long seconds, he had a terrible headache. Then, he gave his king a curt nod. "In that case, Your Grace, I have much work to do."

"You will not fail." said Brandon. The tone of his voice did not deviate from his habitual monotone, but Tyrion took this as a ringing endorsement of confidence.

"Thank you, Your Grace," He gave a short bow. "Now, if you will excuse me, I shall waste no time. I hope to have preliminary sketches by sundown tomo-"

"You will not." said Brandon at once.

Confused, Tyrion opened his mouth to speak-but the king was too quick. He had turned his head in the direction of Sam, regarding him rather coldly with those disquieting eyes. Sam felt, as he always did, as if Brandon could see directly though him. Although he addressed Tyrion, his eyes did not stray from Sam.

"Soon, my Lord Hand, you must embark upon another journey."

Tyrion missed a beat-but never more than one-before he understood. "Ah…" he croaked, in a tired manner. "So Maester Tarly has his answers at last."

Sam did not bother to ask Brandon how he had known, when the final raven had arrived only an hour before. Feeling more nervous by the moment, he gently shut Monkoen's book, running his fingers along the frayed spine as if it were a beloved pet. Now that his answers came not from books, nor from the Sight of Brandon Stark, he was truly out of his comfort zone. Still, as a servant of the crown, and of the realm, this was his duty.

"I have received ravens from the Old Palace, and the Eyrie."

"And?" Tyrion stepped forward once more, looking up at Samwell with some trepidation.

"Well…" Samwell reached into his robes and produced three scrolls, decorated with the sigils of houses Martell, Tully, and Arryn respectively.

"The Dornish have refused us."

Tyrion gave a small, non-committal noise. "I cannot say I am surprised-though, and this is a most rare occurrence for me-I wish I had been proved wrong. After what happened the last time a member of House Martell married into the crown, who could possibly have expected them to send us another one of their sons or daughters to butcher?" He gave a snort, his brow furrowing deeply. "Bringing Dorne back into the fold would be invaluable…perhaps I can still-"

"And the Vale?" Brandon had not taken his eyes off of Sam, and this was felt very keenly.

Now, Sam took one of the deepest breaths of his life. "Well…they have not _refused_, as such, but-"

"We can work with that," said Tyrion, though his mind was still clearly on Dorne. "What did Royce say?"

Sam finished: "-they have not outright accepted, either. The Lords and Ladies of the Vale are willing to meet and discuss the matter."

Tyrion cast his gaze out of the window, as if trying to telepathically communicate southwards, to Sunspear. "Whom have they offered? Though I cannot say that a marriage with the Arryns could possibly be as advantageous as a Dornish match-"

"_Actually-"_ Sam cut in. In the early days of their working relationship, he scarcely challenged the Hand at all, his being older and vastly more experienced. But as time had passed, he had grown more confident. "I believe House Arryn to be a priceless ally. House Martell has a degree of sovereignty that has always proved challenging to the crown. Furthermore, a match with Dorne would only serve to alienate the other kingdoms-following the independence granted to the North, their allegiance to the crown is more precarious than ever. The funds and military power the Vale could bring to the Crown is almost unmatched-except, perhaps, by Highgarden-"

"No." said Tyrion, giving a sick sort of half-smile. "If Bronn were to become father-in-law to the king, he would be completely unbearable. I do not wish to live to see the smug look upon his face. Besides, his daughter is a child of one."

"Historically, a good relationship between the Vale and the crown is correlated with prosperity," Sam continued, as if Tyrion had not spoken. "They have remained out of the fold for far too long. It is time they were brought back in." He looked at Brandon, his face set. "Your Grace, I believe we have found the perfect ally."

Tyrion asked again. "Who have they offered?"

"Well," Now, for the first time, Sam smiled. "The very highest they possibly could. The son of the great Jon Arryn himself. Robert Arry-"

Once more, Sam was interrupted. Tyrion had gone to take another sip of wine-but, at the sound of the name, he noisily choked.

"_Robin_?"

"Yes?" Sam had been hoping for rather a warmer reception-such a match was absolutely unparalleled. He had hardly been able to believe he had pulled off such a diplomatic victory. "He is the strongest and best ally we could have hoped for! Lord Paramount of the Vale!"

Tyrion was still spluttering. He set down his goblet upon the windowsill, shaking his head slightly as if from shock. Then, he turned to address his company. "Your Grace, forgive me for speaking so boldly of our peer. But I do believe there are lowborn tavern girls in Fleabottom who would make worthier consorts than Robin Arryn."

Sam was more than a little bemused. "Why is that? What's wrong with him?"

Tyrion snorted. "You would fill several books with all that is wrong with little Lord Arryn. No," He stretched, looking out of the window once more. "We shall try once more to romance Dorne. I believe they-"

"That is not an answer." said Sam boldly, still confounded by Tyrion's reaction. "You haven't given a single reason why Lord Arryn would not do."

Tyrion did not bother to turn around-but purely from the tone of his voice, Sam could hear that he had raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever _met_ him?"

"Well-_no_-no more than by sight-but-"

"I wish you never have the displeasure of doing so." Tyrion continued. "I have come across far more than my fair share of terrible spoiled brats, but _Robin Arryn_…" He gave a long, deep sigh, stretching far back into his memory. Then, in the high-pitched tones of a child, he muttered: "_Make the bad man fly_!"

Sam still did not understand; but he was determined. "My Lord, Lord Arryn is a few months short of his nineteenth name-day-"

"Though anyone would think it were his _ninth_-"

"You are being unreasonable-"

"You are foolish to cast Dorne aside so swiftly-"

"You are blinkered by Dorne-"

"You are-"

"_Quiet_."

Brandon did not raise his voice in the slightest-but his tone cut through the room like a greatsword. Instantly, the Hand and the maester were silent. The pupils of the king's eyes were tellingly dilated, still finding their place in the boundless whites. It was clear that they had only just rolled back into position. Whilst Sam and Tyrion had argued, they had not noticed that Brandon, in spirit if not in body, had left the room entirely. His hands clutched the armrests of his wheeled chair as he grew accustomed to the weak afternoon sun once more.

After a moment-he spoke.

"House Arryn is necessary." was all he said.

A fire of triumph ignited inside Sam. He had to fight to keep an enormous grin from spreading across his cheeks. It was not often that anyone defeated the Hand of the king in an argument to win the king's favour, and yet he, Samwell Tarly, had done just that. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said, bowing low, whilst trying not to look gloatingly toward the surprised and livid Tyrion. "I shall write to the Eyrie at once, and tell them that Lord Tyrion will come to broker the alliance within the fortnight."

"_Pfft_." Tyrion folded his arms defiantly. "If you think that I am going to-"

But Brandon had fixed him with the iciest of stares.

Finally-he gave a distainful grunt of acceptance. "As you wish, Your Grace."

"There is none better than you, Lord Tyrion," said Brandon, his face a mask. "I would have no one else sing this song to the Vale."

Tyrion still looked mutinous, but there was a certain submission in his expression. "Thank you, Your Grace." He reached back towards the windowsill, and drained his cup. "I will go and prepare for my journey. I am _very_ much looking forward to it. Perhaps I may be attacked by Hill Tribes once again. Or the Vale may see fit to give me another spell in a sky cell. Sleeping without the fear of falling to my death _is_ growing rather tiresome…"

Brandon did not acknowledge these sardonic remarks. "That will be all. Thank you. I wish to look East once more…"

None ever disturbed the king in his frequent optical journeys East, ever searching for a certain winged creature, one who could breathe fire…but Samwell had one more thing to say.

"It would probably be better, Your Grace, if the Hand had some words from you to take to the Eyrie."

Brandon's eye gave the slightest twitch. "What do you mean?"

"Well. You hardly asking for grain, or men-not yet, anyway." Sam licked his rather dry lips. "It should be something more…_personal_."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see Tyrion pressing his lips together in an effort not to laugh.

Brandon was unmoved. "This is not personal. There is nothing personal about it. This is a politically advantageous deal."

"Well-_yes_." Sam said levelly, whilst trying to ignore Tyrion's expression. "But still-in a _delicate_ matter such as this-I think you should at least write a letter for the Hand to present to Lord Arryn."

Once more-Brandon twitched. "You wish me to write a…_delicate_…letter?"

Now, Tyrion had to turn his face to the wall, biting his tongue. Even Sam had to admit, in the unfeeling tones of the king, such a statement did sound rather amusing. But this was not the time for amusement.

"Yes, Your Grace. I think you must."

* * *

_Gulltown_

* * *

The Dark Lady moved through the streets of Gulltown, as silent as a ghost, a charcoal grey hood casting her face into shadow. The smell of the sea was thick in her nostrils as she skirted the coast, the timbers of ships creaking in the wind. As she went, she passed sailors and whores alike, clutching one another by the arm and laughing uproariously into the night sky. It seemed to be a night of great celebration-the celebration being a successful voyage, and a warm bed to come home to. But the Lady paid no mind to any of it. She was here for one reason, and one reason only-and once she had collected that Reason from the place in which she knew she would find him, she was to leave at once.

Finally, the Dark Lady came to a familiar wooden door, hidden discreetly under some striped awning in the back ally. This, this was the place a certain discerning breed of clientele frequented. A gold coin in the palm of the burly guard who stood watch allowed her entrance-and then, she was inside.

Instantly, she was overwhelmed by a heady mix of exotic perfumes and sweet wines. All around her, she could hear sounds of pleasure-a creaking bedframe, the giggling of ladies of the night, the grunts of self-satisfied men with fat purses and noble wives at home. This was an atmosphere that the Lady was much used to…though she did not permit herself to think upon those days…

She made her way through the pleasure house with purpose, climbing a narrow spiral stairwell until she reached the very topmost room. Here, she knew, she would find her Reason. Without bothering to knock upon the closed door, she twisted the handle and barged straight in.

The scene that met the Lady's eyes was quite astonishing.

The room was dominated by an outlandishly enormous silk-hung bed. Instantly, a dark-haired head popped up from beneath the blankets in the centre of the bed, wearing an expression of both shock and anger-though, presumably, not much else. He was handsome, with dark and appealing features-but this was rather negated by the childish annoyance stamped across his face.

"How dare you!" he shouted, pulling the blankets up to cover his chest. "Do you know who I am? Don't you know what a closed door means in a-oh!" But the Dark Lady had removed her hood. Lord Robin Arryn gaped as the identity of the intruder dawned upon him. "_You_!"

There was a moment of silence as the cousins regarded one another.

"Is she coming to join us, my lord?" On his left hand side, a pretty freckled girl with a thick cloud of red curls emerged from the sheets. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and purred.

"There's plenty of room!" A yellow-haired girl appeared on his right. Her eyes were shining, her bouncy grin filled with pleasure-or at least, the illusion of it. She buried her hand in Robin's hair, regarding the new arrival with some interest. "Especially for someone as pretty as her…"

"Oh yes, please do!" A filthily handsome boy arose from the sheets, smiling seductively as he kissed Robin's shoulder. "We are having so much fun. Aren't we, sweet lord?"

"I'm going to have to politely decline." said the Lady, hiding her mirth as Robin's cheeks blushed from peony to rose. "_Sweet lord_."

"Who sent you?" Robin's anger was quite undercut by the ridiculousness of the situation. There was little dignity a man could muster when three eager whores were draped around him. "Was it Royce? I told him to leave me alone!" His voice took on a whining quality. "He never listens to me! He doesn't respect me!"

Tactfully ignoring this outburst, the Lady twinkled kindly down at Robin's company. "If you would be good enough to give us the room in private for a moment, I would speak with Lord Arryn. It is a most sensitive matter."

Robin gave a loud, adolescent sigh, rolling his eyes hugely. "Well, go on then!"

Instantly, the whores climbed out of bed and hurried out of the room, leaving their clothes pooled upon the rugs on the floor, whispering and giggling to one another as they went. Robin was left alone with the Dark Lady.

"What do you want?" he barked, never quite mastering the authority that came so naturally to other lords.

"It is good to see you too, cousin," the Lady said coolly. "You were rather rude to those fine friends of yours there. Manners cost nothing."

"You will not talk to me like that! I am Lord of the Vale!" Robin pulled the blankets further up to his neck.

"Yes. You are." said the Lady in a firm, practised tone. "And I would address the _Lord of the Vale_ with a matter of grave importance."

Robin tutted, mumbling something inaudible under his breath-but he did straighten up a fraction. "What is it?"

"You are to return immediately to the Eyrie," the Lady said, her voice taking on a dull, learned-by-heart tone. "where, in a week's time, you will receive the Hand of the King."

Now, she had Robin's full attention.

"He is coming from the Capitol to broker an alliance with House Arryn."

The lord of the Vale was not the quickest on the uptake. "Yes?" he said, looking unconcerned.

"An alliance." the Lady repeated patiently. "A_ marriage_ alliance."

Robin blinked slowly a few times, before, finally, it sank in. "Oh!" he exclaimed-before his dark eyes widened, shining with anticipation. "With whom?"

The Dark Lady allowed the smallest of smiles to play about her lips. "With you."

Apart from a distant rocking and moaning-there was silence.

Robin Arryn's face read like a book. First, there was surprise. Then-there was confusion. Finally…there was dismay.

"They want me to _marry _a crippled lord of ice?"

His voice echoed around the chamber.

The Dark Lady had been half-expecting this reaction. She kept her face quietly pleasant, knowing that this was the best way to deal with her charge, but her tone was firm, jarring. It refused to be argued or debated with. "Remember that you are speaking of the king. Such slurs do not become a lord." She took a deep breath. "What's more…Brandon of House Stark may no longer be able to walk…but he can _fly_."

Robin said nothing for almost a minute. Far from blushing, his face was now quite pale. However-his jaw was set. He glowered at the Lady from the bed, a strange glinting in his expression. Grimly, he bared his teeth.

"I'll show him _fly_…"


	2. The Lord of the Vale

**Hello all! Thank you so much for reading. I really hope you are enjoying this. More tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

_The Red Keep_

* * *

_My Lord,_

_I would have you come to the capitol at your earliest convenience to discuss the joining of our houses. _

_Sincerely, Brandon of House Stark, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. _

"…Is that it?" Sam looked up from the raven scroll in his hands to the other side of the desk. Brandon stared back, utterly unmoved. On the windowsill behind him, a bird tweeted merrily in the morning air.

"It is perfectly sufficient."

"Well-_yes_, it's certainly that." Sam swallowed hard, racking his brains. "But…shouldn't it be a bit more…?" He gestured vaguely with his free hand, making small waving motions in the air.

"What?" Brandon's eyebrows made the smallest movement inwards.

"It's just…" Sam rubbed his forehead. "I'm not sure if it's the "I would have you", or the titles, but the whole thing is just a bit…_cold_. I'm only saying, if _I_ were Robert Arryn, these words wouldn't exactly predispose me positively towards you." He placed the scroll down, pushing a quill and ink towards Brandon once again. "I know this isn't your way, but…can't you just pretend a little?"

Brandon gave the slightest sniff. "I was never any good at pretending. I have written exactly what needs to be written, and nothing more. Now, I have more important matters to attend to…" His attention had already turned to the bird in the window.

Sam sighed heavily, rubbing his tired eyes with both hands. "Your Grace. You know I love Jon. But learning to pretend-even a tiny bit-would have made the world of difference to him…"

Brandon's features were very much a relic of his Tully heritage, but, for a moment, he strongly resembled his father. "If everyone lies and pretends, the truth ceases to mean anything at all." he said decisively. "Deliver the note to Lord Tyrion exactly as it is. He is almost ready to leave."

* * *

_Past the Bloody Gate_

* * *

Of course, the Eyrie had been designed to be intimidating. Not much truly intimidated Tyrion any more-something about working in close proximity to dragons took most of the fear out of a man. However, around the point they passed the Bloody Gate, Tyrion experienced such an acute sense of déjà vu that he had to catch himself. It felt as if only yesterday, he had been dragged by Catlyn Stark and her men to answer for crimes he had not committed. And yet…it also felt as if a hundred years had passed since that simple, simple time…

"You know, Podrick," said Tyrion, as they finally approached the great Eyrie. "one could say that this was where my adventures truly began."

"Yes, my lord." said Ser Podrick Payne, sitting up proudly on his horse, despite the undesirable length of their journey. Dressed in such fine armour, his white cloak flying out behind him in the wind, he looked as though he had been a knight all his life. Tyrion gave him a small smile; he took a lot of delight in the assent of his old squire to greatness. Though, every time he saw a white cloak clip around a corner in the Red Keep, he could not help but think, for less than a second, that Jaime had come back to him…and in those moments, it felt as if all the organs had fallen out of his body and splashed horribly to the floor, leaving him broken and empty…Tyrion pursed his lips.

Without the weight of false accusation upon him, the beauty of the Eyrie could be truly appreciated. It was an astounding feat of architecture. Tyrion could almost understand why the Vale so kept itself to itself. After all, who would want to leave such an astonishing place? Well, he hoped-young Robin Arryn would. Genuinely, and this was very much a rarity for him…Tyrion had no idea how the little lord would receive him.

_Little lord_…Robin was a man now; Tyrion had seen as much for himself. Still, somehow, every time he thought of him, he envisioned the little boy in his mother's lap…what a repellent little scab he had been. Perhaps he was being too harsh. Perhaps the boy had matured. Then again…perhaps not.

If Tyrion had learned anything from his time in the world, it was that everyone deserved a second chance.

* * *

_The Eyrie_

* * *

"Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King," Tyrion announced himself. "And Ser Podrick Payne of the Kingsguard."

"Yes." said the red-headed Knight of the Vale who had received them in the entrance hall of the Eyrie. The high rafted ceilings were painted with stars and moons, the vast stone room filled with colourful tapestries depicting the great acts of Arryn ancestors. Dominating the hall was a large square banner, bearing a blue falcon cast in silhouette over a full moon. The knight's large shield also bore the Arryn sigil, and his eyes, a look of distrust. "I know who you are." He pointedly looked Tyrion up and down, reminding him that his was still one of the most recognisable faces in Westeros.

Tyrion coughed slightly into the awkward silence. "I suppose you are going to escort us to the High Hall?"

"No." said the knight bluntly, continuing to stare him down.

Tyrion had to bite back a thousand frustrated retorts. Summoning all his dignity, he spoke. "I come as an envoy from the king, to be received by Lord Arryn. If you will not escort us to the High Hall, I am very happy to find it alone. Believe me, I know the way."

"No." said the surly knight again, not deigning to explain himself.

At this-the weariness of his long journey caught up to him, and Tyrion burst out: "Well, what are you going to do with us, then? Lead us in a dance all around the walls of the castle? Perform a strip tease for us? You will take me to Lord Arryn, or I will tell your lord which of his knights disobeyed the crown!"

The knight still looked unabashed. He appeared to be on the verge of rolling his eyes. "You will follow me to the council chamber."

"Only if it is not too much trouble!" Tyrion blurted-but, with a pained look from Pod, he held his tongue. What was it these young knights were taught these days? It had been so different when he was in his youth…or had it? Nonetheless, Tyrion and Pod followed the red-headed knight through narrow stone corridors, glinting with relics of the history of House Arryn, until, finally, they were ushered through a wooden door.

The council chamber was small, but its windows and high ceilings gave the illusion of space. There were two large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, strewn with countless candles, and two metal sunbursts mounted to the walls. Around its perimeter were large stone pillars, and squat stone benches on which to sit. And, upon these benches, at the far end of the room, sat three grey-robed people, watching and waiting to receive the royal. There were two white-haired men, and one slender white-haired lady, who all bore the unmistakeable marks of aristocracy. Instantly, Tyrion was reminded as to exactly what extent the Vale could present a front of absolute unity.

"My Lord Royce." he said respectfully to the closest of the three. Royce was an enormous man, who, standing, was almost as tall as the Hound had been. Effortlessly, he commanded absolute esteem-an effect Tyrion had desired for as long as he could remember. "My lord, my lady." he continued, greeting the rest of the assembled party. "Thank you for receiving me. The-the beauty of the Vale is truly-"

"Lord Hand." cut in Royce, his voice neither pleasant, nor unpleasant. "You are welcome in the Vale."

Tyrion was not sure how seriously he should take this welcoming. It was as if the very stones of the castle were trying to turn him out.

"I do apologise that you were not received in the High Hall, as befits your status" Royce continued, fixing Tyrion with a very hard stare. "But we thought it was prudent to meet with you first. To ensure we are all of a common understanding, before we involve Lord Arryn himself."

Tyrion was somewhat surprised by this, feeling more wrong-footed by the second. "Surely Lord Arryn ought to be present to discuss the terms of his own betrothal?"

The white-haired lady's nostrils flared. "Lord Arryn's betrothal is _our _affair. He does not know that you have arrived yet. It is better this way."

There was a confused, protracted silence.

"Would you take a cup of wine?" she finally offered, without warmth. "You must be exhausted from your journey."

Tyrion licked his dry lips, before he began to speak. "Never too exhausted to serve the realm, good lady." He had a feeling that he was already fighting a losing battle-and so resolved to play all his best cards. "I come as an envoy from Brandon of House Stark, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Our king values the contribution of the Vale to the kingdoms, and is eager to make a permanent alliance through marriage..." He paused. "Of course, such an opportunity for advancement of the Vale's prospects and position comes less than once in a generation. In accordance with the terms set out for you by Grand Maester Tarly, I believe we can come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement."

Royce was quiet for a moment, watching Tyrion like a hawk as much as listening to him. Then, he spoke: "You are a remarkable creature, Lannister. How is it that you have seen so many kings and queens come and go, and yet here you remain, with the badge of the Hand still upon your chest? Joffrey, the bastard of incest, then the Dragon Queen…You have been tortured, maimed, sold, disgraced, and damn near executed in the time between your stints as Hand. In truth, it is astonishing that you are not dead. How is it that you have stayed afloat, while so many around you have drowned?"

Tyrion paused, before he answered. "I am good at swimming, I suppose."

Royce made a small grunting noise. "And now you want us to send our lord, the only surviving son of Jon Arryn, down to that cesspit of a capitol to marry a king we hardly know."

"A king you _chose_." Tyrion carefully reminded him. "I understand that it must be difficult to send young Robert away from home, but-"

"Oh, it's not that." scoffed Royce, a glint in his eye. "As far as I am concerned, the deal is done, and the quicker it is sealed, the better for all of us."

There was some subtle nodding from the silent lord and the white-haired lady. Tyrion, meanwhile, was quite nonplussed. "I am sorry, my lord, I am not sure I understand. Robert Arryn is Lord Paramount of the Vale. To send him out of the Vale is-"

"My Lord Hand, please mark my words carefully, because I will say this only once." Royce leaned forward in his seat, and lowered the tone of his voice a fraction. His eyes were deadly serious. "Moving Lord Arryn to the capitol will have almost no effect on the government of the Vale."

Tyrion looked around him at the assembled lords and lady of the Vale, all wearing quietly knowing expressions. In less than a second, without another word, he understood the arrangement as well as anyone else in the chamber. Robert Arryn was as a figurehead upon the bow of a ship. The real power in the Vale stood before him. Once more, he could not help but feel rather alone in the face of such a united front.

In silent acknowledgement, Tyrion nodded once.

"Good," said Royce, leaning back and taking a long drink of wine from the cup in his hand. "It is settled, then." The corner of his mouth drooped down slightly, as if in disgust. "I fostered the boy for years, ever since that rodent Baelish did away with his mother. I did my best to raise him into a man…" He took another drink. "Still, I live in hope that my efforts will yet prove not wasted…"

Tyrion felt a good degree of respect for the man, as well as reasonable sympathy. "I promise Lord Arryn will be safe in Kings Landing."

Royce looked at Tyrion over the rim of his cup-and snorted. "Perhaps that will be the first lie he will hear in the capitol."

"I was merely trying to assuage your parental concerns regarding the welfare of your ward." Tyrion murmured, half-sarcastically.

Once more, Royce gave a bark-like grunt. "Believe me, Lord Hand, I love and serve House Arryn, and will for all my days, but the _boy_…" He shook his head in a rather tired manner-before clenching his jaw. "Life in the capitol may be the making of him. Give him some menial occupation on the small council, something to keep him busy-but he should not be trusted with anything of real consequence. I wish I could say he will serve you well, but frankly, that would be an insult to your intelligence."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Thank you for not insulting my intelligence."

"You can be assured that the Vale will bolster the crown's coffers and armed forces to the extent we agreed with Tarly. We are not the Lannisters, but we are more than enough to make a difference. Every man from the Vale is worth ten from the rest of the kingdoms."

"Who truly are the Lannisters anymore?" Tyrion said lightly, keeping his voice free of the emotion which was threatening to build inside his throat.

"Your maester is right. It is high time the great Vale of Arryn was brought back into the fold."

"This is then a deal well-struck," said Tyrion, feeling at last the first warm rushes of triumph. "I look forward to our new partnership."

"Very good." said Royce, draining his cup. Then, he turned to his companions. "I suppose we had better tell Robin the good news…"

* * *

"My Lord Arryn." said Tyrion, giving a short bow to the weirwood throne. As he inclined his neck, he was more than aware of the Moon Door, waiting covered at his feet. It had been only upon the roll of a god's dice that he had not been cast into its gaping maw himself. But there was not time to consider the not inconsiderable adventures that had shaped his life to this point. Now, he had to consider the young lord before him-who, as a child, had cheerfully bayed for his blood from his mother's lap. Perhaps this was why it stuck Tyrion that the throne looked rather empty with only one figure sitting upon it.

"My," he began, making his voice sound warmer and more cheerful than he felt, the tone in which he had spoken to Tommen and Myrcella as children. "How you have grown."

"I still cannot believe they sent the _Imp_!"

Robin's voice echoed throughout the hall, as did the silence that followed. The young lord was dressed in fine clothes of blue and grey, a large cloak fastened with a falcon broach at his chest. He slouched on the weirwood throne, one leg dangling over the arm, as he regarded Tyrion with a careful mixture of superiority and disgust.

"My lord," came a calm voice from the dark-haired woman by his side. "You are addressing the hand of the king-"

"It's alright," Tyrion was far too accustomed to this treatment to pay much mind to it other than a dismissive wave of the hand. It seemed as if, no matter how often he saved the necks of every man, woman, and child in Westeros, he was still no more than a dwarf in their eyes. "I am sure the…high emotion of the occasion lends itself well to ill-considered outbursts. We will simply move on."

"You will not give me orders in my own hall!" Lord Arryn shouted, that whinging quality returning in force to his tone. "I am Lord Paramount of all the Vale, and you are_ in_ the Vale. Therefore, my word is your law!"

Not much fazed Tyrion these days. Least of all a pampered teenage lord. With the quiet rustlings of disapproval and the subtle shaking of heads around him, Tyrion's knowledge that Robin's true power was limited was reinforced in earnest. He was, frankly, a kitten compared with the likes of Joffrey. However, Tyrion knew more than any that, whilst he was in the Eyrie, he must play the game Lord Arryn's way, or he would lose.

"Forgive me, my lord," said Tyrion, forcing a smile once more. "I am weary from my long journey. Allow me to begin once again." He gave a careful cough. "I come as an envoy from Brandon of House Stark, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Our king values the support of the Vale, and recognises the historical successes of a good relationship between the crown and the great and noble House of Arryn. The importance he places upon your position in the six kingdoms is epitomised by the fact he sent me, his own Hand, to broker this agreement...In a sentence, he proposes to join the great houses of Stark and Arryn in marriage."

Lord Arryn seemed unmoved by this news. Doubtless, he had been warned what was to come. He simply stared; his large, childlike eyes unwavering in the cold sunlight.

"If it is so important to him, why did he not come himself?"

Tyrion missed only one beat. "I am sure you understand why our king finds long journeys difficult to endure." There was a veiled accusation in the tone, an implication of insensitivity to Brandon's lack of mobility-of the physical kind, at least. His patience was already wearing thin.

Perhaps there was the slightest recognition in the face of Lord Arryn. He may have even experienced a flash of embarrassment. Nonetheless, he turned once more to the woman beside him, who murmured inaudibly into his ear.

Tyrion waited, standing before the throne like a man on trial.

Finally, Robin spoke. This time-it was with a rather excited smile.

"I have decided _not_ to directly accept the crown's proposal, but to visit the capitol first and meet with His Grace." Here, he gave a self-satisfied smirk. "Only then shall I conclude whether such a marriage would be beneficial for House Arryn, and for the Vale."

Tyrion felt a tightening in his chest. He had been expecting such a statement. Once more, he arranged his aching features into a sickly grin. "A wiser decision was never made, my lord."

"It is settled then. Just as our lord would have it." barked Royce, as if the agreement had not already been sewn up in the chamber beforehand. Tyrion well understood the game they were playing; the tyrannical young Robin must believe that he himself made any given decision, and only then would he do exactly what his puppet masters at the veil wanted. It was a tactic he had tried on Joffrey, for a time...until the young king had grown wise to it... "Lord Arryn will ride with you to Kings Landing, accompanied by my bastard and his personal guard."

"Yes, that is absolutely-" Tyrion had begun automatically to agree, still thinking about Joffrey-but, all of a sudden, he fully comprehended what had just been said to him. "Wait. Lord Arryn will ride _with _me?"

"Oh yes…" said Royce, his eyes shining. Clearly, he found great joy in Tyrion's obvious dismay. "Oh yes...You will accompany Lord Arryn on the Kingsroad. There will be plenty of time for you to get to know one another on the way..."

Tyrion paused for a long moment, staring in horror at the repellent adolescent upon the throne-before, like a deranged puppet-doll, he painted a false smile upon his face. "Wonderful. How much I look forward to it…" he spat out, through gritted teeth.

"Mmm…" Royce gave him a very nasty smile.

"And your bastard?" Tyrion looked all around the High Hall, desperate to change the subject. "Where is the lad?"

"Here."

Tyrion whipped around in the direction of the voice, which had come from in front of him. Standing there, beside the weirwood throne, wearing a cloak of charcoal grey, was a pale young woman with hair so dark it looked almost black, tied in a thick plait which crept over her shoulder. The Dark Lady gave a wan smile, and stepped forward.

"My Lord Hand. I am Alyssa Stone."

* * *

**Thank you again for reading! I hope you continue to read. If so, see you tomorrow! 3 **

**Cheeky Hint 1: Tyrion has the least enjoyable road-trip of his life**

**Cheeky Hint 2: A new invention will be unveiled...**

**Stay tuned for more! xxx **


	3. The Kingsroad

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have favourited and followed! Hope you enjoy this chapter. As usual, I own nothing! xxx **

* * *

_The Kingsroad_

* * *

Robin Arryn never left the Vale.

Until his mother's death, he had never even left the Eyrie. After all, why would he? All he had heard, since he could remember, was that the Eyrie was the only safe place in the world for him. Within those stone walls, in his mother's arms, no one could hurt him. And as for anyone who tried…well, that's what the Moon Door was for. Even before any one of the thousands of "bad" people in Westeros-the Lannisters, the Martells, the Greyjoys, and all the rest-made it to the High Hall, there were the Bloody Gates, the Mountains of the Moon, and hundreds of Vale knights who were absolutely devoted to his family to protect him. Every one of these defences were like vast oceans, separating to the impregnable fortress Robin called home from the rest of the world. No one could touch him. Not ever.

But then-everything had changed.

* * *

Tyrion had been going to take a long drink of wine from his flask, but when he upended it into his mouth, only lukewarm droplets splashed onto his tongue. Oh Gods. He had run out. And never, in his whole life, had wine been more necessary.

"What does the Red Keep look like?"

Opposite him in the cramped carriage, so close their knees were almost touching, slouched Robin Arryn, who had not stopped asking questions since they had left the Eyrie. As if this was not irritating enough, the lord of the Vale still stared openly at Tyrion, like young children did in the streets. In his dark eyes, there remained a disquieting blend of intrigue and distrust.

Tyrion hid a grimace. For the sake of the realm, he must keep up the pretence. Robin had not yet mentioned their first meeting, so long ago, when he had not quite managed to sentence him to death. And the Hand was certainly not going to be the first to bring it up.

"Well…it_ used_ to look magnificent. It was made of stunning red-coloured stone, with more towers than the eye can count, stretching up to the sky like the arm of a god…" Tyrion was silent for a moment, contemplating the home he had known for so many years. "…and then dragons happened."

Robin looked enraptured. "I was sorry I didn't get to see one."

Tyrion shot him a knowing glance. "Don't be too sorry, my lord. A dragon is a beautiful and terrible thing. They are a relic of a world long, long turned to ash…"

There was a short silence, as Robin took in this peculiar statement. Then- "So what does the Red Keep look like now?"

Tyrion's patience was being severely tested. He loathed acting as a personal guidebook for such an objectionable creature as Lord Arryn. And yet, he knew, he owed it to his king to be professional. Only a week's ride, and he would be back in Kings Landing…_a week…_almost_ seven days_…Tyrion wasn't certain he could last seven _hours_. Desperately, he envied Podrick, who rode peacefully behind them, untroubled by the pestering of pampered (soon-to-be) princes.

"Different," he began. "Over the last few years, I have been using what remains of the Lannister gold to restore the castle to its former glory. It is a heritage site, after all, as well as the residence of the king. However, there is only so much I have been able to recapture. There are things that no amount of gold will ever be able to replace…"

"Like what?" Robin asked blithely.

Tyrion bit his tongue, fighting back the image of his dead siblings faces that was burned forever onto his memory... "Like…the dragon skulls. Even Balerion the Dread was ground to dust under the rubble."

"Oh…" Robin nodded, seemingly satisfied. But weary Tyrion counted in his head: _five…four…three…two…_

"Was the Moon Door destroyed too?"

Ah. There it was. Tyrion absent-mindedly raised his flask to his lips again, before remembering that it was empty. _Shit_. "There is no Moon Door in the Red Keep, my lord."

"_Really_?" Now, Robin looked truly bemused. "But…what do you do with people you don't like?"

Tyrion sighed heavily. "What indeed…" _Make the bad man fly_. "Well…I served a queen who burned her enemies. I served a king who beheaded them. They all seem to have their preferred method…"

Robin raised an eyebrow-then, his face took on a rather superior air. In that moment, he was the image of his mother. Ah. Dear Lysa. _Poor_ Lysa, Tyrion thought, more kindly. He had no idea that he could have so much compassion, especially for a woman who would gladly have seen him killed…

"Our way is much better." Robin was saying, smirking. "No fire-fire's too dangerous. And no cutting people up. The ground does that for us."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "The _point _of burning someone to death is that it is "dangerous"…"

But Robin did not acknowledge the sarcasm. He either ignored it, or, more likely, did not understand it. Oh Gods. How could Tyrion possibly work with someone who did not understand sarcasm? The Small Council would be hellish…"What does _Brandon the Broken_ do?" Robin was asking, having already moved on. He spoke the king's name with some distain, as if it were the name of a particularly mangy dog.

"Well, it's interesting that you should say that," Tyrion leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest. He stared distractedly out of the window at the fields and farms that surrounded the Kingsroad. "Swords and axes are notoriously unreliable. It just so happens that we are working on a new invention as we speak. Long ago, a disgraced maester conceptualised a device that would remove heads quickly and efficiently, every single time."

"Oh?" Now, Robin was truly interested. He learned forward in his seat, his eyes sparkling with glee.

"Yes. Samwell Tarly calls it the…what was it? The Dropper? The Slicer? Oh, I don't remember…" He sighed. "As long as capital punishment is here to stay, we might as well be humane about it…"

Robin was practically bouncing up and down in his seat with excitement. "I've never seen anyone lose their head before!" He spoke of the idea as if it was some great treat. This, above everything else he had seen from the young lord, turned Tyrion's stomach…

"I'm sure you will soon, my lord…" he muttered. _And if I have to spend another minute in this carriage, I hope it is mine._

"I still think you should just put a Moon Door in the Red Keep," Robin was saying enthusiastically, swinging his legs so hard they were in danger of crashing into Tyrion's. "Much better."

"Perhaps you can sing that song to the king." Tyrion hissed testily through his teeth. "We could empty our chamber pots through it."

"What was that?" Robin asked suspiciously, his thick eyebrows knitting together.

"Nothing, my lord." said Tyrion, giving him a very strained smile.

"Oh. Why-?"

"_My Lord_." came a soft, but firm, female voice. Tyrion almost jumped out of his skin to hear it. He had quite forgotten that they were not alone in the carriage.

"Perhaps you ought to get some rest," Alyssa Stone murmured, placing a practised black-gloved hand on Robin's shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, Tyrion swore she gave him the smallest wink. "Travelling is exhausting, especially when one's health is already rather delicate. You mustn't wear yourself out before you have even reached the capitol."

At this, Robin bristled. "I'm not delicate!" he whinged.

_Then I am not a dwarf,_ Tyrion thought darkly, regarding the frail boy before him, with skin so white it looked as if the sun had never touched it. _My father would have been delighted…_

"Of course not, my lord," Alyssa Stone assured him quickly, an indulgent glint in those pale blue eyes. Her tongue seemed to cover every word she spoke in honey. "You are noble and strong. It is only your health which is delicate. And who could be surprised? With all your energy concerned with the higher pursuits of mind and government, it is little wonder that your health occasionally suffers as a result!"

After a moment of vacant gaping-Robin's face fell back into self-satisfaction. He smiled proudly back at his companion. "Yes. That's right. That's what Mummy used to say."

_Mummy_. Tyrion felt like vomiting. Still, he could not help but watch, spellbound, as this bastard girl of the Vale so expertly wove her words around Robin. He had been in politics for many years, and not since the likes of Littlefinger had he seen such masterful diplomacy…

"I know." Alyssa combed through Robin's floppy hair with her fingers in a rather maternal gesture. "You should listen to her. Rest now, so that you'll be the very best version of Sweetrobin you can be when you meet the king."

"Alright then. I will." Robin grinned. He stretched out his legs, and pulled his grey cloak tighter around his shoulders. But, before he settled, he cast Tyrion one last, apprehensive look. "You'll protect me, won't you, Alyssa?" he asked, as if Tyrion might attack him in his sleep.

"Of course I will, my lord," Alyssa assured him-shooting Tyrion an apologetic look as she did. "I always do."

Robin looked more than placated. "I'll rest now, then."

"An excellent decision, my lord." The dryness of Alyssa's tone was altogether lost on Robin. Blissfully ignorant, he settled himself down to sleep on the cushions of the carriage, resting his head in Alyssa's lap. Very gently, and slightly out of tune, the Dark Lady began to sing.

"_High in the halls of the kings who are gone_

_Jenny would dance with her ghosts,_

_The ones she had lost and the ones she had found_

_And the ones who had loved her the most..._

_And she never wanted to leave...never wanted to leave..." _

As she softly stroked his hair, Robin's breathing deepened and evened out in a matter of minutes. Like a child, he fell asleep quickly, and without a care in the world.

Tyrion watched this performance with fascination. Now he was asleep, the repugnant little lord looked altogether much sweeter…but then, Tyrion considered levelly, so had Joffrey. However, it wasn't Robin Arryn who so interested him at that moment. It was the young woman with dark hair, who had so easily manipulated her charge with the expertise of a Master on the Small Council. Tyrion took careful note of Alyssa Stone, this unknown daughter of Yohn Royce, who resembled her father as much as Tyrion resembled the Hound. Perhaps this girl, despite what she brought with her to the capitol, could be a real asset.

After all, Tyrion had always had a soft spot for cripples, bastards, and broken things…

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to leave your thoughts below. More tomorrow! xxx**

**CHEEKY HINT: Stark and Arryn finally meet... **


	4. The Curtains

**Hello all! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have favourited and followed. Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy, and more tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

Never in his life had Robin been anywhere so dirty as Kings Landing.

When he had visited the capitol some years ago, after the Dragon Queen had lay waste to the city, he had spent less than a few hours there, before Royce had bundled him back into this very carriage to go back to the Eyrie. It was the only time in his life he had ever left the Vale before now…in his mind, from deep within his memory, he heard the sound of his mother's voice, as clearly as if she was sitting right next to him. _The lord of the Vale must stay in the Vale…_

Kings Landing had meant almost nothing to him. He had sat, rather vacantly, half-listening to the intense debate over whom the next ruler of Westeros would be. It was nothing to him who sat on the throne; the capitol was miles away from the Eyrie, and Robin's world. All the time, he wanted only to go home, back to the Vale, where only his voice mattered, where he could do exactly as he pleased, rather than having to listen to so many other lords and ladies' pointless opinions…in truth, Robin felt certain he would have voted for the first person to offer themselves, simply so he could get the blasted affair over with.

But now-he was to live here.

As soon as they had bypassed the city gates, the stench of sweat and piss entered his nostrils, and didn't leave. Although they took a short route through the streets, Robin was glued to the window of the carriage, gazing down at the dusty cobbled road below and the perfect blue sky above. Beyond the curtains that framed the window, he gazed at the shops and taverns they passed by, the colourful awnings and fresh produce a wash of brightness. He listened to the calls of the street sellers, trying to outbid one another on the stalls; the gossiping of passers-by, the sound of children playing…and his nose wrinkled.

"It still stinks!" he declared, mildly disgusted. "I thought it would be much busier than this! It's supposed to be the capitol! And half the buildings are just piles of rubble!"

Tyrion was silent for a moment. There was a strange, dark look in his eyes as they passed by another building which was partially destroyed. The downstairs was almost intact, and the shop front still in business, but the upstairs was little more than a lone window and a mound of broken bricks. These half-standing buildings were a common sight through the streets of Kings Landing, making every road look like a mouth with broken teeth.

"You would be surprised at how well the city has recovered, my lord." the Hand finally said, rubbing a hand over his eyes as if the sunlight burned them. "Despite the best efforts of…certain individuals…Kings Landing endures," There was a sort of fierce pride in his eyes as he looked out at the street below. "But not everyone has the funds to rebuild their homes..."

Robin was unsatisfied. "I'm not sure I want to live here anymore." He looked at Alyssa, who was sitting silently beside him. "I don't want to have to see all these ruins every day."

"You'll not have to look at them," Alyssa assured him, looking extremely tired-but she patted his hand comfortingly. "You will be in the Red Keep, and they will be all the way down here. All you'll be able to see are the city lights at night, and the sea, stretching out over the horizon, all the way to Essos…"

For a moment, Robin considered this. Alyssa was right. He needn't trouble himself with the lives of the common people. Besides, he had much more important things to worry about. Now he was mere hours from meeting with the king, the king who may one day become his husband…he felt as if his stomach was filled with snakes…

Of course, Robin had seen Brandon before. He had voted, after all, for him to become king in the first place. But, now he thought about it, he wasn't sure he could accurately picture the king's face. How long was his hair? What colour were his eyes? Had he been handsome, or ugly? Robin felt another jolt of nerves, from somewhere deep inside…surely, none of the common people, in their crumbling houses, could ever comprehend exactly how he was feeling. What did they ever have to worry about, in their simple, primitive lives? Robin, meanwhile, felt that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

If only Mother were here.

He took a deep breath, and quickly shut the curtains.

* * *

"What if I don't like the king?"

Alyssa frowned slightly at the question. "_Like_ him? Whatever do you mean? And hold still." She tugged the comb through his hair once again, smoothing it into place.

Robin fidgeted slightly in his seat. The cushion of the chair was as soft as goose feathers, golden-embroidered scarlet that matched the curtains around the vast bed. Even he had to admit- the royal apartments at the Red Keep were a world away from the Eyrie. They were so fine and luxurious that he felt quite the pauper-which he greatly resented. He could not seem to settle into this strange, castle keep, which seemed to have half the rooms closed off. Although the large fire place kept the room gloriously warm, he couldn't help but shiver.

"Well…" He bit his lip anxiously. "He wants us to become betrothed. Shouldn't we…like one another?"

Alyssa always spoke far more harshly to him when they were alone. "That's not what a betrothal means."

Robin hesitated. "Mother said-"

"I'm certain she did," Alyssa cut him off, casting the comb aside and pulling him to his feet, where she began to straighten his cloak. "It doesn't matter if you like him or not." she murmured, refastening his falcon-shaped broach. "This is about what is best for the Vale. All you need to worry about is making the right decision for our people." She looked at him for a moment-then gave him the briefest of reassuring looks. "You mustn't look so worried. The crown wants House Arryn back in the fold. You wouldn't believe the things high lords and ladies normally have to do to get the monarch interested in their children. All you must do…" Very gently, she pulled at the corners of his lips with her fingers. "…is smile."

Ordinarily, Robin drank in every word Alyssa said. When Royce had fostered him, she had been his companion, his guardian, his rock. He couldn't count the number of times he had cried himself to sleep in her lap, grieving his mother. And even after he moved back to the Eyrie in his majority, enjoying all the pleasures that lordship and certain brothels in Gullstown afforded him, she had been an almost constant presence in his life…however irritating she sometimes was, no one could calm him down like she could.

Still, as Robin walked behind a gold-helmeted member of the Kingsguard down to the throne room, finally to meet with the king, he could scarcely keep his hands from shaking.

* * *

Brandon the Broken did not sit on a throne. He did not even sit where the Iron Throne had been. In his customary black clothing, he sat at the base of the cracked stairs, which had once led up to the chair of a thousand blades, without so much as a crown on his head. All around him, the newly reconstructed throne room stretched endlessly, high ceilings and tall pillars glinting with newness. Amongst such grandeur, Brandon looked most out of place. If Robin had not known he was the king, he doubted he would have realised. And yet…there was something regal of him. Something almost otherworldly. As if behind the youthful exterior, there hid the soul of the oldest man in the world.

Robin was used to being stared at, but the rather thin crowd of remaining aristocracy in the capitol suddenly seemed incredibly intimidating, watching him openly as he walked across the marble floor, towards the Stark king. In this vast, unfamiliar space, they felt like wild vultures, eyeing up their next meal…Oh, how _ridiculous_ he was being! He was an Arryn, Lord Paramount of all the Vale! He outranked every one of these floral-clad men and women with long, twisted braids in their hair.

Still, as he followed Lord Tyrion to the throne, he was more than glad of his personal guard, a handful of knights of the Vale, marching at his back. One of the men carried in his arms a huge metal birdcage, covered with a navy blue sheet, which was decorated with moons and stars-the contents of which occasionally omitted strange screeching noises.

Robin was especially glad of Alyssa, who was somewhere high in the balconies, watching from above. How he wished she was by his side…how he wished she was beside him.

But now, he couldn't think about Alyssa. For the time had come for him to face the king.

Slowly, expertly (clenching his trembling fingers into fists)…he sank into a deep bow. Behind him, he heard the clanking of armour as his guard followed suit. He did not dare raise his head, until he heard Lord Tyrion's voice.

"Your Grace. May I present Robert Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale."

Finally-Robin dared look up. Sitting in front of him, wearing the most curious expression he had ever seen in his life, was Brandon Stark. Instantly, the exact construction of his face came flooding back to him. He remembered it all-that dark hair, those staring eyes, the thick black eyebrows that his fringe fell onto…yes. This was Brandon.

For some reason, he seemed rather larger than Robin remembered. More confident. And much, much more intimidating. Though, perhaps, this was due to that strange look in those omniscient eyes…Robin felt as though he was staring straight into his heart…

This feeling was not altogether pleasant.

"Lord Arryn." the king greeted him. His voice was neither kind, nor unkind. In fact, it wasn't much of anything at all. Suddenly, Robin was seized by the fantasy that Brandon resembled some kind of puppet-his mouth moved, he spoke the right words-but no warmth ever reached those eyes.

"Your Grace." Robin replied, trying not to seem daunted. Suddenly, he felt a tinging at the corners of his mouth, and remembered Alyssa's fingers. _Smile_. Quickly, he manufactured one, trying his best to meet the king's penetrating gaze.

Very slightly, the corner of Brandon's eye twitched.

There was a very thick silence.

Instantly-Robin felt a sick, swooping sensation inside. Oh Gods. He had already ruined it. He fixed his eyes on the marble floor, and prayed for the Seven Hells to open and swallow him down, never to be seen again.

From somewhere on the balconies, high above his head, he heard a subtle, female coughing noise.

Hurriedly, Robin attempted to recover his composure-which had already seemingly slipped from his fingers. "A-a gift from the Eyrie." he gabbled, much to quickly, trying to remember all that Alyssa had told him to say. "T-to thank you for your gracious hospitality."

He beckoned with one of his hands. Instantly, the knight carrying the cage stepped forward, and pulled off the moon-spangled covering with a flourish.

There, sitting in the cage, and looking thoroughly grumpy, was a beautiful grey falcon. It screeched its approval as the darkness was lifted, and spread its wings impressively. From the courtiers behind them, there was an outburst of "Ooh!"s and "Aah!"s, and a muttering of excitement and approval. It seemed Alyssa had been right-as much as Robin loathed giving presents-he much preferred to receive them-this had certainly been a wise move. Feeling at last a rush of hope that the situation may be salvaged, Robin looked rather desperately at the king.

Brandon the Broken regarded the magnificent bird with no more interest than if it had been a simple songbird in a tree. Once more, his mouth moved, but his eyes remained cold and staring. "A kind gesture," he said, expressionless and entirely unreadable. "You and your household are most welcome in the capitol."

Robin felt more wretched and helpless than he had ever felt in his life.

* * *

"I don't like him!" Lord Arryn cried, slamming his chamber door behind him and throwing himself upon the bed. "I don't like him at all!" He buried his face in the feather pillows and let out a long, loud howl.

Alyssa hoped that the walls in the royal apartments were thick.

"You cannot say such things!" she hissed warningly. "Besides, you have only just been properly introduced! You can't possibly pass judgement already!"

"I don't care!" Robin's voice was muffled by the bedclothes as he whined into them. "I want to go home!"

Alyssa closed her eyes. Quickly, she conjured the face of her father, remembering the last words he had spoken to her before she had left the Eyrie:

_Do well. Settle this arrangement, and you shall be Alyssa Royce._

Her heart skipped a beat every time she thought of it.

She opened her eyes, and looked down at the boy she knew so well, whom she had watched grow from a sickly little boy into…a slightly taller sickly little boy. Whom she called cousin. All she could see before her was a sweep of dark hair, and a challenge.

Alyssa would turn this boy into a worthy prince if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

Far above the royal apartments, on the battlements of the Keep, Brandon Stark overlooked the city. Sitting on his gloved hand, waiting majestically for his instruction…the grey falcon.

_Fly_, he thought.

Then-his eyes rolled back into his head.


	5. Essence of Nightshade

**Hello all! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have followed, favourited, and reviewed! Very kind of you. More tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

_My Lord,_

_I would have you come to the capitol at your earliest convenience to discuss the joining of our houses. _

_Sincerely, Brandon of House Stark…_

Robin stared at the raven scroll so hard that he was amazed his gaze didn't burn holes into the paper. Out of the window, he could see the brilliant blue sky above Kings Landing, streaked with white cloud. It stretched all the way down to the greyish waters of the bay below, where ships with brightly coloured sails bobbed on the waves. With all his heart, he desperately wished he was on board one right that moment, sailing due North, back to the Vale where he belonged…

"Alyssa," he called, leaning back in his seat. From the desk at other side of the room, Alyssa looked up from the scroll she had been writing. "What time is it? I don't want to be late for the small council meeting…" He paused, before leaning forward once again and wrapping his arms around himself. "Although there's nowhere I would rather go less. I don't want to have the king looking at me with those cold, staring eyes…"

Alyssa regarded him with polite confusion. "Didn't they tell you, my lord? The meeting has been cancelled."

"Cancelled?" Robin twisted around to look at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Why has it been cancelled?"

Alyssa shrugged. "How should I know how things work in the capitol? Now, let me pour you a glass of wine." She got up from her seat, and began to pour dark red liquid from a bronze jug into a cup. "It will steady your nerves."

Robin hunched his shoulders over, looking small and sad. "Perhaps it is just as well. What is the point attending meetings when I am not going to marry the king?"

"Oh goodness, Robin, you're not still taking that silly line, are you?"

"I'm not silly!" Robin retorted. "I have made up my mind! The king doesn't like me, and I don't like him-not one bit!"

Alyssa sighed as she set the jug upright on the desk. "I still think you are being far too rash. You only properly met him yesterday. His Grace wants very much to marry you-"

"Well, maybe he shouldn't stare at me in such a terrible way then!" Robin clenched his firsts in frustration, slamming them into his knees. "His eyes! He makes me feel like a little mouse in a field, and he is an owl eyeing me up for supper!"

Alyssa turned her back as she picked up the cup of wine. Slowly, she crossed the room, placing the cup firmly in his hands. "Drink. And some men pay good money for that feeling in Gulltown."

Robin blushed fiercely. "I wish you wouldn't talk about it like that. I know they are whores, but at least they listen to me! At least they respect me!"

"They're paid to do that, Robin." Alyssa reminded him, watching him closely as he raised the cup to his lips.

"Well, I can't wait to get back to them, and away from this horrible city, and this horrible, horrible king!" Robin took a long, deep drink, hungry for the numbness that wine brought about. As he drained the cup, he felt that delightful warm sensation beginning to consume him…suddenly, as he set the cup down, he began to feel drowsy…What was this? He had only taken breakfast an hour before? But an immovable desire to sleep began to overtake his every cell.

"My lord?" Alyssa rushed to his side, grabbing his shoulders as his head began to lull. "My lord, are you alright?"

Robin shook his head, trying hard to clear his mind...but he was powerless to resist. His eyelids had become unbearably heavy. Dumbly, he allowed Alyssa to lead him over to his bed, guiding him down onto the mattress. The moment his head hit the pillows, he felt sleep, absolute and dreamless sleep, begin to take hold…in less than a second, he was out cold.

* * *

As she watched Robin fall irresistibly asleep, essence of nightshade weaving its magic inside him, Alyssa smiled. As she swept over to the door, ready to make her way to the tower of the Hand, she fingered the little glass vial in her pocket. A few drops in a glass of wine, that was all it took…Now, she could go to work.

* * *

Tyrion took his time straightening the chairs in the small council chamber, ensuring that each one lined up perfectly. Whenever he did this, he was always assured of a productive meeting. He was not a superstitious man by nature, but perhaps there was something about an instant semblance of order that instilled the same attitude in the minds of his peers. Therefore, it had become a small tradition of his to always have the room perfectly in order. Especially since, this morning, they were expecting a very important guest.

As he straightened the final chair, Tyrion let out a long, sad sigh. In his minds eye, he could see Cersei sitting before him, clear as day, in the very chair she had occupied back in the days of Joffrey's reign. He could see her long golden hair, the scarlet of her gown, her biting green eyes, the stream of hatred pouring out of her mouth towards him…Sadly, he smiled.

Suddenly-Tyrion was brought out of his fantasy by a loud, neat knocking on the door.

"Come in!" he called, trying to sound casual.

The door creaked open. Behind it, there stood a young woman with a long braid of black hair, almost to her belt. She was still dressed in the neutral blue and grey hues Tyrion associated with the Vale, which seemed rather washed out beside the bright, floral fabrics he was used to seeing in the capitol. It was certainly less harsh than his own customary black.

Perhaps one did not ordinarily invite bastards into the small council chamber. But Tyrion lived in a brave new world.

"Good morning, my lord." called Alyssa Stone, closing the door behind her. To Tyrion's surprise, she was unaccompanied.

"Good morning," he greeted her, tilting his head slightly to one side. "Will Lord Arryn follow you soon?"

Alyssa loosened the neck of her grey dress slightly, regarding Tyrion with tired eyes. "He will not be joining us."

Tyrion was abashed for a few seconds. He blinked hard a couple of times, before his tone became slightly more forceful. "Not joining us?"

"No, my lord," Alyssa said, quiet respect in her voice-and yet her eyes were certain. "Lord Arryn has sent me to represent him. He trusts me to speak on his behalf."

A nervous jolt shot through Tyrion's chest. Oh Gods. If Robin Arryn had not deigned to join them in the meeting that may have decided his future in the Red Keep-the outlook could not be positive. He swallowed hard, racking his brain for something probing to say. Still, he could not help but think that if the loathsome Arryn boy was going to refuse them, it could be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps the case for the Dornish was not lost after all…

"…Is Lord Arryn settling in well to life in the capitol?"

Alyssa spoke very carefully. "It is a world from the Vale."

"Do you think he will grow used to it?"

"Who can know, my lord." said Alyssa vaguely. She strolled over to the table, and fingered the backrest of one of the chairs. There was a strange look on her face. It was as if she was staring at a great wonder of the world. "Have those in the capitol grown used to Lord Arryn?"

It was a burdened question. Tyrion knew that there was only one person she truly referred to.

"I am sure the king will tell you himself, when he arrives," Tyrion answered, lowering his voice and stepping closer to her. "But you ought to know that he is very eager to join the Vale and the crown. I explained to your father before we left the Eyrie-"

"Lord Arryn," Alyssa interrupted him, still stroking the backrest of the chair. "does not believe this to be so. In fact, he is quite certain of the opposite."

Tyrion took in this peculiar statement slowly. It appeared that his instincts had served him well.

"Lord Arryn has expressed uncertainty regarding our arrangement." Alyssa met Tyrion's eyes as she spoke.

"Really?" Tyrion asked, keeping his voice casual-but extremely loaded. "…To be consort to the king of the Six Kingdoms…to sit at his side while he rules…to become in one fell swoop the second most important person in Westeros…sounds simply _dreadful_. I would certainly struggle to accept it myself."

Alyssa gave him a hard look. "You know it is not that simple. The throne is a dangerous thing."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "You needn't tell me that. But something tells me it is not the danger that plagues your lord."

"No," Alyssa agreed, keeping his gaze steady. "It is the king."

Tyrion sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. Deep down, he had known that this was always going to be a problem. "What is the matter?" He dreaded the answer.

Alyssa's hand ran from the backrest of one chair to the backrest of the next as she glided around the small council table. "You may not have observed this during our long journey together, but Robin is very sensitive. He may come across as…" She paused for a moment, searching for the right word. "As…"

_Repellent?_ Tyrion offered in his head. _Ignorant? A jumped-up little shit?_

"…difficult." Alyssa selected, with a very significant look at the Hand of the King. "But behind it all, I know he has a good heart. I truly believe, with the_ right_ guidance, he has a lot of potential."

Tyrion recalled Yohn Royce's words back in the Vale: _I wish I could say he will serve you well, but frankly, that would be an insult to your intelligence._ Looking at the confident young women before him, there was no question as to whom the "right" guidance was going to come from.

"Perhaps that is so," Tyrion replied, studying her carefully. "And the crown would benefit enormously from the support of the Vale."

"But if Robin refuses the king," Alyssa stated bluntly. "It is all ashes."

"That it would be," Tyrion nodded, narrowing his eyes. "So what do you suggest the king could do to change his mind?"

A small smile from Alyssa. Now, they were speaking the same language. "As I said," she began. "Robin is very sensitive. He has a rather juvenile notion of marriage, and desires a certain affection from the king."

At this, Tyrion could not help but cough. "Affection?" From _Brandon_?

Very slightly, Alyssa rolled her eyes-then set them back on Tyrion. "It is all rather narcissistic, if you ask me. But let it be clear: if you want the Vale's men, the Vale's gold, and the Vale's support, the king must at least_ pretend_. If Robin does not believe that His Grace has even the least bit of affection for him, he will never agree to the marriage."

Tyrion swallowed. "His Grace is not known for pretending."

"We all must do things we would rather not sometimes," Alyssa said. "For example, Robin would currently rather not stay in the capitol at all. Given his way, he would be on the Kingsroad by now. But I persuaded him otherwise."

For a second, Tyrion could not help but look impressed. "You persuaded him?"

"I persuaded him." Alyssa finished firmly, as the footsteps of the rest of the small council approached the door outside. "Talk to the king. If you want the Vale, you must first gain Robin."

When Tyrion considered the enormity of the task Alyssa had just lain before him. And yet, as he looked up at the daughter of Yohn Royce, speaking to him like an experienced statesmen…he could not help but look forward to working with her. Perhaps he was gazing at a future master on the small council…

But still. To persuade Brandon the Broken to somehow _endear_ himself to Robin Arryn, even to show _affection_…it was akin to persuading a pig to grow wings and fly across the narrow sea…


	6. The Three-Eyed Raven

**Hello all! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have reviewed, favourited, and followed! Thank you muchly. More tomorrow! Hope you enjoy xxx**

* * *

Of all the challenges Samwell had believed he would face as Grand Maester to the crown, this certainly hadn't been one of them.

"Lord Arryn wants_…_are you quite certain?"

Even without the slightest intonation to his voice, Brandon was still able to portray his confusion-and his contempt.

"I don't think he's being particularly unreasonable, Your Grace." Sam rushed, his hands hidden awkwardly in the pockets of his robes. "I mean, I can't think of anyone who would be delighted to marry someone they barely knew."

"Sometimes, the more ignorant one is, the better," Tyrion said from his chair, cup of wine half-empty in his hand. His voice was half-sarcastic. "Many a good marriage has been ruined by knowing each other too well…"

"Honestly, I think this could be a very good idea." Sam spoke over the Hand, holding his own in the small council chamber. "If you were to start your betrothal on a good foot, it could really enhance the relationship between the Vale and the crown. Things could be much easier for you both down the line."

Brandon still looked strange. He stared vaguely out of the window as he spoke-a habit, Samwell admitted, that he loathed-but he spoke with a biting tone. "Doesn't Lord Arryn see how important this arrangement is for the Kingdoms? There isn't time to waste!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam shared a significant look with Tyrion.

"It is at your pleasure, of course, Your Grace," said the Hand finally, hiding a sigh with his fingers. "But I don't think it would hurt to give the boy a little of what he wants…play the game his way, as it were."

In his own, extremely subtle way, there was the slightest discomfort in Brandon's face. "What ought I do?" he asked, finally.

Tyrion gave an impatient hand gesture as he searched for the words to say. "…Perhaps you could take dinner with him. Show him around the Red Keep. Prove to him that you're…well…_human_." Even he was not certain whether this was the appropriate word to apply to Brandon. "I'm sure he would be far more positively disposed towards you if he felt comfortable in your company. Remember." He leaned forward, utter seriousness in his eyes. "This is for the Kingdoms. And you are the king."

* * *

A strange yellow light grew ever brighter…brighter and brighter, as if the sun was rising in Robin's mind, turning the sky every shade of pink and red…

Slowly, Robin's eyes fluttered open. He found himself horizontal, staring up at the scarlet canopy above his head. There was a strange, sweaty feeling over his body that was simultaneously hot and cold. As his head cleared, Robin realised that he must have fallen asleep fully-clothed.

Oh Gods. Robin curled up miserably into a ball, snuggling into the soft blankets. How could he have fallen asleep? The empty feeling in his stomach told him that it was past lunchtime. How could he have allowed himself to take an extended nap-a nap that would surely stop him from sleeping well that night? How stupid he was! Perhaps all the travelling and excitement had thrown his body out of kilter…perhaps he was delicate after all.

Robin buried his face in the pillows, missing his own bed at home in the Eyrie more than ever. He remembered his childhood chamber, his mother stroking his hair and singing softly to him as he fell blissfully asleep, without a care in the world…how he wished he could be a child again. How he wished his mother could be here…how he wished Uncle Petyr was here…Hot tears began to prickle behind his eyes as he realised how utterly alone he was in the world.

Well. All except for Alyssa…

Knock.

Robin raised his head blearily, shaking it a few times to try to expel the last fog of sleep. "Who is it?" he called out, trying to sound as if he had been awake for hours.

"It is your king." came a low voice from outside.

Instantly, Robin felt as if a heavy weight had just taken root deep inside him. As despondent as he felt, the one who had caused it all was the last person he wanted to see. Still, bound by duty, Robin slid from the bed and made his way to the door, smoothing his hair back into place as he went. He pulled the door open to see Brandon the Broken sitting in his wooden chair, staring up at him with those same cold, probing eyes. Behind him, presumably having pushed him there, was Ser Podrick Payne, dressed in full armour and looking extremely awkward.

"Your Grace." Robin greeted him, icily polite. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Brandon looked up at him, a peculiar air in him. Then, as if he were being forced to speak, he answered: "I would take the air upon the battlements. Would you join me?"

* * *

Feeling intensely wrong-footed, Robin strolled wearily by the side of the king's chair. It was a glorious day; the sky was clear, stretching all the way over Blackwater Bay, and the sun shone, glistening off the stones of the crenelated walls. He had not known what to think when Brandon had asked him here; the king had not made the slightest bit of effort to spend time with him before now. Perhaps, he thought, a flicker of hope in his heart, the cause was not lost…

"This is truly a beautiful city!" Robin exclaimed desperately, in an effort to break the silence. "Of course, the Vale is unmatched for landscape and natural wonder, but I do believe-from this distance at least-Kings Landing is quite lovely after all!"

Brandon made no attempt to react to Robin's words, apart from the slightest inclination of his head. His eyes were fixed firmly upon the sky.

Steeling himself, Robin tried again. "I must say, I am most grateful that you asked me here, Your Grace. I am not certain we got off to the best start in the throne room, and I am delighted that you might have the chance to redeem yourself."

From behind them both, Ser Pod gave the slightest, embarrassed, cough.

"…I hope you liked the falcon, anyhow." Robin finished, feeling a pink tinge growing on his cheeks.

At this-Brandon gave the first sign of response. "Yes. The bird is magnificent. Most useful."

Robin was unsure exactly what the king meant by this, but he decided to take the statement at face value. Perhaps, as he listened to Brandon being so very grateful for the favour he had brought him, he could see the worth of _giving _gifts as well as receiving them. Certainly, he felt the very first surge of warmth he had experienced in a long time.

"I am very grateful for the opportunity to get to know my king better." he said, giving Brandon a small smile.

Very slightly, Brandon clenched his jaw. "What would you like to know?"

Robin was silent for a few moments. The far-away look about those eyes did have a certain…appeal. The more the king spoke to him, the more he began to consider his absent mystery in a different way. Perhaps, if they ever did wed, his unusualness could seem thrilling, rather than terrifying…

"Well, if we are ever to be married, I should like to know everything." Robin answered, his smile growing more natural.

"Everything?" Brandon suddenly blinked, very slowly. "It would take an eternity for me to share all I have seen…"

The fact that Robin did not understand half the words that came out of Brandon's mouth seemed to matter less and less. "Perhaps you could start with…hang on." Robin paused, an idea suddenly striking him like lightening. "Or, we could start off with me! I could tell you all about me, and then you could start on your…eternity." He beamed, as brightly as the sun. "How does that sound?"

Brandon's eyebrows knitted together the smallest fraction. "But I already know all about you."

Once more, Robin was intrigued. "Whatever do you mean, Your Grace?" he asked, his voice rather soft. Behind them, Podrick was staring very definitely forward, trying to look anywhere but at the afternoon stroll he was third-wheeling.

"I mean exactly what I said." said Brandon bluntly. "I know everything."

"What do you know?" Robin pressed him, feeling anticipation stirring inside. "Tell me."

For a moment, Brandon breathed in and out. Then-he opened his mouth.

"Your name is Robert Arryn, though you prefer Robin, because that is what your mother called you. You were born almost nineteen years ago, on a bright summer's morning. They rang the bells for you for a day and a night. Your father was Jon Arryn, who served as Hand of the King to his old ward: Robert of House Baratheon, your namesake. He was murdered after he discovered the Lannister's incestuous secret."

"What-?" Robin was struck to the bone by this steady outpouring of truth. "Your Gr-"

Calmly, Brandon continued. "Despite countless attempts to have you fostered elsewhere, you were raised in the Eyrie by your mother. You are extremely prone to sickness, and were not expected by many to reach maturity."

"What on Earth do you mean by-!" Robin felt failingly helpless in the face of this extraordinary statement. But, like a river, Brandon rolled along.

"After your mother died, you were given to House Royce on the orders of your stepfather, Petyr Baelish, of whom you were very fond-not least because he spoiled you as much as your mother did."

"Don't talk about my mother like that!" Robin cried, anger seizing him. He felt his face growing pale, his cheeks flushing red. "And don't talk about Uncle Petyr-!"

Still, in this steady stream, Brandon went on. "Yohn Royce attempted to train you in the art of war, but was utterly unsuccessful. You have no talent for the sword, nor for the bow, nor are you a horseman. But what need had you of any of that? You were Lord of the Vale. After the death of your stepfather, you moved back to the Eyrie to rule as Lord Paramount in your own right. Since then, you have developed a fondness for visiting establishments in Gullstown, where your favourite whores are Elliana, because she holds you close and strokes your hair, and Bastyn, because he-"

"_Stop it, stop it_!" Robin shrieked, clutching his hands to his ears.

"You are unaware that your confidant lies and deceives you-"

"_STOP IT_!"

His voice seemed to echo over the entire city. On the opposite turret, a flock of birds took flight in shock.

Brandon looked up at him. There was no cruelty in those staring eyes. And neither was there warmth. "Now do you understand? I know everything about you, my lord. There is simply no need for this exercise."

Robin was far too flabbergasted to think clearly-and far too furious to try. Instead, as he was wont to do-he simply screamed: "_I hate you! I hate you!_"

With that, he turned with a whip of his cloak and a clattering of his boots on the stone. Then, he ran as fast as he could into the Red Keep.

"…Well…" Brandon gave a small sigh-before turning his head to speak to Podrick, who wore a rather shellshocked expression. "His reaction could have been more desirable."

Pod was silent for a moment. Then, as he began to push the king back inside:

"Maybe it was something you said, Your Grace…"


	7. Flea Bottom

**Hello! Thank you so much, as always, for reading, and especially to those who have favourited, followed, and reviewed! It is honestly so kind of you, and I hope you continue to enjoy! More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

Knock.

"Come in!" Tyrion called, lowering his quill. He sprinkled sand upon his newly written words so that the ink would not run, and set the raven scroll aside carefully to dry.

A second later, with a clanking of heavy chains, Samwell Tarly burst into the chamber. His face was rather pink from what had clearly been a sprint through the Keep to find the Hand of the King. Between pants, his mouth stretched into an enormous grin.

"It's ready, my lord!"

* * *

Robin fled through the corridors of the Red Keep, skidding along the stone floors in his haste. As he ran to his chamber, his vision grew more impaired by the moment as hot, angry tears clouded his eyes. Indeed, he almost knocked over two separate handmaids and a squire carrying an enormous jug of wine in his haste. All the while, Brandon's words echoed deafeningly in his ears, reverberating unbearably through his heart.

"We're leaving tonight!" he shouted thickly as he slammed the door of his chamber. At the desk, Alyssa looked up from her raven scroll in surprise. "We're going home to the Eyrie, and we're never, ever coming back!" Once more, he cast himself upon the bed, and began, noisily, to weep.

Instantly, Alyssa dropped her work and rushed to her charge's side. "Seven hells, Robin, what's _happened_?"

"The k-k-king was p-perfectly cruel to me!" he sobbed, not troubling to raise his head. "H-he insulted me! He d-d-degraded me! And worst of all: he-he knew all these things ab-b-bout me that he oughtn't have known!" A pathetic little wail escaped him, muffled by the blankets. "It was terrifying! He k-knew everything! L-like he could see all of it h-h-happening right in front of him! Oh Alyssa, I was so scared!" Miserably, he waited for Alyssa to comfort him.

Alyssa did not speak immediately. Neither did she lay her hand on his back, or even stroke his hair. "You knew this about Brandon Stark. You knew of his visions. What did you say to provoke him?"

"_Provoke_ him?" Robin was confused, lifting his head an inch to wipe his streaming eyes. "How dare you! I didn't provoke him!"

"I find that hard to believe…" Alyssa whispered to herself, out of earshot of the distraught lord. Then-with some force-she spoke. "Robin, we can't leave. You _have_ to marry the king."

"_No_!" Robin cried, his voice wet with tears. "I won't! I _can't_!"

"_You will_!"

Alyssa never raised her voice. But now-she shouted right back at him, her voice echoing up to the high stone ceiling.

"_Stop acting like a spoiled brat_!"

More surprised than anything, Robin turned his head to look at her, his eyelashes stuck together with tears. "Y-you can't shout at me." he said, sounding hollow rather than angry. "You can't say that! I am Lord of the Vale!"

Alyssa's face had grown quite red, her eyes very wild. "Of all the people in Westeros, Robin, you could benefit from being shouted at once in a while!" She stood tall over him, barking her words so furiously that spittle flew from her lips. "I have let you set the rules and play the game your way, but now, that is finished! It is _over_! And since you _are_ lord of the Vale, I would have thought you'd put your people's interests ahead of your own selfish whims!"

Robin could hardly speak. "I-?" he whispered-before Alyssa started again.

"Do you think you are the first person in the world to be married against your will? Don't you realise how fortunate you are? For the sake of the Gods, Robin, every damn person in the world would _kill_ to be in your position right now!"

Robin couldn't understand it. How could Alyssa, his closest confidant, his constant companion, have turned on him so? The world was upon its head. "I-if we were at home-" he began, gulping through sobs. "I-I would t-throw you through the Moon Door!"

"Oh, I'm sure you'd do it happily," Alyssa spat. "But we're not up high in the Eyrie. We're in Kings Landing, and you are here to wed the king! You are here to do what is right for the Vale!"

Robin felt like a helpless animal trapped in a cage. Hot tears spilled relentlessly down his cheeks and splashed onto the mattress. "I will _never_! You don't understand how horrible he was! I don't think anyone in the world has ever suffered as badly as I did at the hands of our king!"

Alyssa took a long, deep breath. When she let it out-finally, she grabbed Robin by the hand. However, this was not the comforting gesture he had been seeking. She was pulling him firmly to his feet.

"Come with me. I have to show you something."

* * *

"…What do you think?" Samwell asked nervously.

"Well…" Tyrion let out a long, low breath. By the light of the torches in the half-destroyed basements of the Red Keep, he regarded the newest invention in Westeros. And it was not a vision he would forget in a hurry.

It was a terrible thing, in truth. The contraption appeared to be comprised of two parts-the vertical, and the horizontal. The vertical part was a wooden frame that stretched high into the air; a good fourteen feet or so. However, there appeared to be a large metal blade positioned at the top of the frame, as sharp as glass and twice as deadly. Directly beneath the blade, there were wooden stocks, with a single large hole in the centre. The horizontal portion was on the same level as the stocks, and appeared to consist of a long wooden table-presumably, on which the person in the stocks would lie. And linking the whole thing together were an ingenious series of ropes and pulleys, whose operation were plain to any onlooker…

Tyrion was not by nature a proud man, and he was seldom seen even to smile in recent years. But there was a certain glint in his eye as he looked up at this magnificent contraption.

"I think it's exactly what Monkoen had in mind." He reached out a hand, and patted Sam on the back. "You have done very well."

"This is going to change everything!" Sam gabbled, staring up at his masterpiece with pride. "No more hacking at people with swords, no more mindlessly swinging blunt axes around. This will do the job cleanly, quickly, and consistently." He beamed at Tyrion. "Your instructions were impeccable. I couldn't have done it without you."

Tyrion gave a tight grin in return. "Indeed. The dawn of the humane execution is upon us." His tongue rolled around the oxymoron with some distaste-but the point stood. "I'd take it over burning, anyway…"

* * *

Hooded cloaks casting their faces in shadow, Robin followed Alyssa uncertainly through the back streets of the capitol. He had fought against her firm grip upon his hand-but now, he held on for dear life. All around him, the grey stone walls were covered in scratchings and graffiti, the ground beneath his boots was strewn with filth, and what Robin desperately hoped wasn't excrement.

"What's happening?" he asked, staying as close to her as he possibly could. "Where _are_ we?"

Alyssa cast a dark look over her shoulder. "Welcome to Flea Bottom, Lord Arryn."

"_Flea Bottom_?" Robin felt more fearful by the step. "I don't like it. I want to go back to the Red Keep!"

"That's not an option for the people who live here," Alyssa said shortly. "And keep your voice down. One sniff of an accent like yours, and you'll be mugged."

Instantly, Robin pressed his lips together, his heart thumping in his chest.

Finally, they emerged onto a dirty cobbled street, which was overcrowded with residents of the slum. Robin gasped, and clapped his hand over his nose and mouth to try to smother the distinct smell of urine that filled the air. Lining the street, there were several sludge-coloured awnings, under which root vegetables and parts of extremely pungent fish were sold. Dominating the place was a stool that appeared to stock only a thin brown liquid brewing in a huge metal cauldron, which was sold by the bowlful for only a few pennies. Dogs barked incessantly, chasing the rats that scuttled busily down the gutters.

Robin stared, and stared, and stared.

But worst than all of this, were the people. Now he stood, literally face-to-face with the very poorest of Westeros for the first time in his life, he could hardly believe his eyes. He had never seen bones jutting out of flesh, nor eyes too large in their sockets, nor skeletal children sleeping curled up in doorways. Most strikingly of all…a far larger proportion than one would expect of the residents of Flea Bottom sported ugly burn marks.

"Please!"

Robin was startled. A young woman had thrown herself at Alyssa's feet, her muddy dress hanging off her shoulders-which shone sickeningly with burns.

"Please, my lady!" she begged.

Alyssa said nothing. Calmly, she reached into her pocket, and produced a silver coin. The moment this was received-the beggar rushed off into the crowd. She moved unbelievably quickly, almost a blur as she ran. Robin's stomach churned as he imagined just what she might have to run from…

"My mother came from a place like this," Alyssa's voice broke into his thoughts. "She was a whore."

Robin had no idea what to say.

"I don't ever want to hear about your "suffering" again."

Robin was almost too choked to speak. He simply could not fathom that places like this really existed in the world. The whites of the beggar girl's eyes haunted him…now, he could not shut the curtains of his carriage. Now-he was forced to face reality. "But-" he began-before lowering his voice to a whisper. "But-but why doesn't anyone _do_ something about this?"

Ignoring his question, Alyssa turned to him, and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders. "Now do you see that the world is a cruel, and harsh place? Now do you see how lucky you are?"

There was nothing to say. Beneath his hood, Robin had begun to weep once again.

"I know you don't like him," Alyssa's voice softened slightly-before, passionately, it rose once again. "Gods, I can see how disagreeable he is. But this is bigger than you. For once in your life, think of someone other than yourself!"

As Alyssa led him back to the Red Keep, through the backstreets of the slums, Robin kept his head bowed. Again and again, the image of the beggar woman flashed through his mind. The whites of her eyes…for the first time in his existence, he realised that she had been every bit as human as he was…

* * *

Alyssa locked Robin's chamber door behind her as she went. The lord had asked her, very firmly, albeit with a funny sort of look in his eyes, to leave him to his thoughts. This, she was all too happy to do.

It was so close, she could almost taste it. Soon, she would drop her bastard name, leaving it and all its limitations behind her. She would be Lady Alyssa Royce of Runestone…

And after _that_…she had many, many plans…


	8. The Betrothal

**Hello all! Sorry for posting so late-I'll post earlier tomorrow! Hope you are all well, and still enjoying this! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have reviewed, favourited, and followed. More tomorrow! I won't keep you any longer xxx**

* * *

Robin toyed with his food rather than eating it, pushing meat and vegetables around the plate and spreading gravy all over the fine crockery. Despite the excitement of the previous day, he found that he had no appetite whatsoever. Moodily, he speared piece after piece of wild swan, shredding it with his knife and fork, before shoving it aside and beginning the operation again. No. He could not eat.

"What's the matter?" Alyssa demanded, already half-finished. "Don't you like swan? I can't get enough of it."

"No, I love swan…" Robin murmured, sighing. He glanced out of the chamber window, thinking about what he now knew to lie beyond it… "I…I'm just not hungry."

Alyssa sniffed dismissively, taking another mouthful. "That's ridiculous. You scarcely touched your breakfast either. Eat."

"I said I'm not hungry." Robin repeated, some terseness in his voice.

"_Eat_." Alyssa reached over the table and pushed his plate towards him. "You'll waste away."

"No." Robin shoved it away with such force that gravy splashed onto the table cloth. "I can't. I'm much too upset."

"_Upset_?" Alyssa scoffed, taking a sip of water. "How can you possibly be upset? I thought our little excursion yesterday would have knocked some sense into you."

"That's just it." Robin leaned his head upon his hand, which was propped up on the table by his elbow. "I can't stop thinking about it all. That awful smell, the rats, the filth…and worse, all those little children, sitting so listlessly on the street…" He gave a small shudder. "I didn't know that there _were _such horrible places in the world."

Alyssa watched him closely, an eyebrow raised. "There's plenty more where that came from, my lord."

"But _why_?" Robin asked, his eyes very wide. "If there are so many terrible places, in such dreadful poverty, why don't those in power _do_ anything about it? All the lords and ladies of Westeros, even the crown! Why don't they help?"

Alyssa set down her cutlery, still staring rather probingly at him. "There is some charitable giving included in the annual expenditure."

"Well, it's clearly not enough!" Robin insisted, his voice rising a fraction. "People can't be allowed to live like that! _Children_ can't be allowed to live like that! It's…it's barbaric!" He sniffed hard, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't like it. I want it to change."

"Oh dear!" Alyssa covered her mouth to conceal a small smirk. "I haven't seen you so passionate about anything since you last cast a man through the Moon Door!"

"I mean it!" Robin tapped the table with his hand to illustrate his point. "Why isn't anything being done?"

Alyssa took another drink, taking her time. Then-very gently, she spoke. "It's not that simple, Sweetrobin…" She drank again, regarding him closely with her eyes over the rim of her cup. "But…you know, there is no one in Westeros in a better position to make a difference than you…" Tenderly, she patted his hand-but those eyes were fierce. "That is…if you marry the king…"

Robin didn't know what to say. He had never experienced such an internal conflict as he had experienced ever since their visit to Flea Bottom. Oh Gods. Whatever was he to do? He knew, in his mind, that to wed Brandon the Broken was the right thing, for his people in the Vale, and for the realm. But his heart…his heart ached, as if there were a shard of glass trapped in it…

* * *

Knock.

"Come in!" Robin called, looking up from his book. He had not exactly been reading it; rather, he was looking at the colourful pictures scattered throughout the story, of roaring dragons, gallant knights, and swooning maidens. Still, he could not settle to a single task…

"Good afternoon, Lord Arryn." came the dulcet tones of the Hand of the King as he entered the chamber. At his back, there stood Grand Maester Tarly, looking most earnest. "Might we speak?"

Robin leapt to his feet, nerves jolting in his stomach. "Oh! Well-Alyssa is bathing, I'm afraid. She'll be back in-"

"Actually," Tyrion closed the door delicately behind him. "We'd like to speak to you alone."

Robin felt a shiver down his spine. Never, in his life, had he conducted a meeting alone. He had always had his mother by his side, or his Uncle Petyr, or Lord Royce-or, indeed, Alyssa. But now, here stood two of the most important people in Westeros, keen to speak to him…Quickly, Robin attempted to gather his head, sweeping his arm in a friendly manner towards the scarlet couch. "Please. Sit."

This they did, and Robin upon the chair opposite them. Uncomfortably, he crossed one leg over the other, and then back again. He felt distinctly as if he were being interviewed. Nonetheless, both the Hand and the Grand Maester wore rather solemn expressions, which were by no means unkind. And both looked as uneasy as he felt.

"My Lord," began Tyrion, his hands clasped in his lap. "It came to our attention that your time with His Grace yesterday may have proved…unsuccessful."

Despite himself, Robin almost smiled. What an understatement…

"Now, I am sure we all want what is best for the realm, and we wouldn't want to jeopardise a good and sturdy alliance after one bad experience." he continued, his eyes betraying his desperation. "You see…His Grace is…" Lips pressed together, he searched for the correct word. "Is…"

"He finds it difficult to express himself." Sam interrupted, narrowing his eyes and nodding. "What he outwardly portrays…and, sometimes, what comes out of his mouth…don't necessarily reflect his true intention."

"Which can make interacting with him, when one does not know him well, occasionally rather overwhelming." Tyrion finished, folding his arms.

Robin's lower lip trembled as he remembered all that the king had said to him the previous day. "He sounded fairly certain to me."

"I am sure he did," Tyrion nodded understandingly. "But believe me, Lord Arryn-the last thing the crown wishes to do is offend you. His Grace remains very eager to join your houses, and to make you his consort. So now, it is over to you. What can the crown do to repair any wounds inflicted, and continue on the course to a positive union?"

Both men waited anxiously for Robin's answer.

For the second time that day, Robin simply couldn't speak. He shook his head a few times, as if his ears were full of water. Then…he sighed. "I don't know…"

Tyrion's jaw clenched slightly. "You don't know?"

Suddenly, like a river flowing forth into the sea-the truth came pouring out of Robin's lips. "Everything is all so confusing!" he burst out, burying his face in his hands. "I know I ought to marry the king, but he is so cold, and so unfeeling, that I don't think I can bear it!" He let out a long, shuddering gasp, and desperately tried to bite back his tears.

"I told you this was a bad idea…" he heard Tyrion hiss to Sam.

There was a short silence.

Then, suddenly-someone stood up from the couch. That someone moved slowly over to Robin's chair, treading lightly, as if hoping to calm a spooked horse. Then-that someone laid a hand upon Robin's shaking shoulder.

"It's alright to be confused," came the voice of Samwell Tarly, more gentle than Robin had ever heard it. "It's completely understandable. You're not bad or wrong for feeling like this. I expect you're under terrible pressure-"

"I am!" Robin cried, snivelling.

"But you don't have to be." Sam crouched down at his feet, looking up at him with bright eyes. "Marrying into royalty…I'm sure I'd be afraid too."

"I'm not afraid!" Robin asserted, harshly mopping his eyes. "Not of the crown…I'm afraid of the king!"

Sam was quiet for a moment, allowing Robin to collect his thoughts. From the couch, Tyrion watched, looking more anxious by the moment. "What do you like to do, Robin?" Sam finally asked him, smiling encouragingly.

"What?" Robin was confused, his voice sodden with emotion.

"What do you like to do? What are your interests?"

Tyrion said nothing-but, out of the corner of his blurred vision, Robin could see him sarcastically raising his eyebrows.

"I'm asking because, as consort, we would welcome you into the small council," Sam explained, as cheerfully as he could. "We'd like to give you a position that best serves your talents. If you did decide to marry the king, whatever position you had would become your responsibility. I'm sure you have a great many good qualities-"

At this, Tyrion couldn't suppress a snort.

"-and you'd be an asset to the royal household." Sam paused. "What I'm trying to say is that being consort isn't all about merely being the spouse of the monarch. There's so much more to it than that-and, as Prince of the Six Kingdoms, you'd have a great many opportunities…"

At this-Robin's head jerked up. "Would that be my new title?" he asked, unable to keep a certain excitement out of his tone. _Prince Robin_…a little of his childish lust for power crept into his mind…

"Yes," Tyrion answered, with an expression that clearly read: _Gods help us all._ "Robert Arryn, Prince Consort of the Six Kingdoms. It has a…certain ring to it."

At Robin's enthusiasm, Sam was spurred on. "That's right. So, as prince, what would you do?"

Robin looked at the two men before him. He paused for a long moment…before, finally, he spoke. "The poor. I want to help the poor."

Instantly-he was met with two pairs of absolutely astonished eyes. Indeed, Lord Tyrion's seemed almost to pop out of his head. "Excuse me?" he asked, as if certain he must have misheard, or misunderstood.

"The poor." Robin repeated, strength returning to his voice. He sat up straight, clutching the arms of his chair with his hands. Just by speaking those words, it was as if there was a terrific rush of warmth throughout his entire body. "I'm thinking of others. And I want to help."

There was a rather loaded silence. On the couch, Tyrion looked as if he had just been hit over the head with a mallet. Meanwhile-Sam looked thrilled.

"Oh yes, my lord. If you became Prince Consort…you could certainly do that…"

* * *

"Well." Tyrion rubbed his hands roughly over his face, as if certain he was dreaming. "Who'd have thought? Robin Arryn, the slimiest little snot rag I ever met, who last week refused even to _look _at ordinary men, suddenly thinks he is Baelor the Blessed."

"Shh!" Sam shushed him as they walked through the stone corridors of the Red Keep. "He'll hear you, and then it will all be for naught."

"You were very good with him, you know."

Sam shrugged modestly. "I just pretended he was Little Sam having a tantrum. Identify and validate his feelings, then distract him. Works every time."

At this, Tyrion could not help but laugh hugely. "And so our potential prince can be influenced in the same way as a little child. That might be very useful in future." He shook his head, still trying to process what had just come to pass. "I wonder how long this charitable streak will last. Something tells me, once he sits beside Brandon as ruler, it will all be forgotten…"

"Perhaps not," Sam said hopefully, as they drew closer to the small council chamber. "Perhaps Robin will be an asset after all. If ever there was a time when the crown needed to improve its image…well, I'm sure it will take more than a few acts of giving to wipe the Dragon Queen's conquest from the minds of the smallfolk…"

"But," Tyrion said, pushing on the wood of the door so that it creaked open. "It might just be a start."

* * *

Robin's hands were shaking. Without Alyssa, without anyone else at all, he made his way through the Red Keep, through all the royal apartments, until, finally, he came to the dwelling place of the king.

He could taste his heart in his throat.

"Lord Arryn," Brienne of Tarth stood guard at the door, one hand on her greatsword. She was dressed entirely in magnificent armour, and cut quite the impressive image. "What business have you here at this hour?"

"I…" Robin swallowed his heart. "I would speak with the king."

Brienne's professional demeanour was betrayed only slightly by the surprise in her enormous blue eyes. Indeed, the turbulent relationship between Robin and the king had spread like wildfire through the royal household. "His Grace does not ordinarily accept visitors after dark-"

"Let him in, Ser Brienne." came a low, monotone voice from inside the chamber. An uncomfortable shiver passed through Robin's body-it was as if Brandon had known he was coming. Which, Robin admitted, he probably had.

After a visual inspection to ensure he was unarmed, with some reservations, Brienne unlocked the door to the king's private chamber. Nevertheless, she stood back to allow Robin to pass with the upmost respect.

Slowly, Robin stepped into the room, picking his way across the stone floor like a cat. Brandon's chamber was far less lavish than even Robin's own-it had a simple wooden bed, covered with a blanket of harsh fur Robin recognised as belonging to a wolf. The walls were bare, apart from countless shelves containing a great many books of history, presumably for the king's reference. The only attractive feature was the large open window, leading out onto a balcony. It was here that Brandon, in his habitual black, sat, looking up at the navy blue sky above the city.

"Good evening." he greeted him, without turning around.

Trembling slightly, Robin bowed to his back. "Your Grace."

"What do you want?" Brandon asked, bluntly. Desperately trying not to take sure harshness personally, Robin stood his ground. Without pausing, without hesitation, the words cascaded from his mouth like a waterfall.

"I've made up my mind. I…I will marry you."

The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

Brandon was silent, and quite still.

Robin stood, his heart racing so violently that he felt as if he might vomit.

Then-

Without looking around, without intonation, without much of anything at all…Brandon spoke.

"Thank you."

At this-Robin could bear it no longer. He turned, and fled the chamber, running full pelt until he reached his chamber. Then, he threw himself onto his bed, and sobbed.


	9. The Falcon's Tourney

**Hello everyone! Thank you endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have reviewed, favourited, and followed! More tomorrow! Also, I hope you enjoy the snazzy new chapter titles! xxx**

* * *

News of the official betrothal swept through the Red Keep at an alarming rate. Soon, raven scrolls were flying all over the kingdoms, from the Neck to Dorne, and into the North. Before long, it seemed like everyone in Westeros was talking about Brandon the Broken's forthcoming wedding to Robin Arryn of the Vale. By virtue of this, Robin found himself the very centre of attention in court. He was catapulted from a potential and relatively obscure match from the Eyrie to the soon-to-be prince of the Six Kingdoms. And now, it seemed, everyone wanted a piece of him.

From taking meals in his room with only Alyssa for company, he now ate outside on the terraces, surrounded by creepers and flora, or in one of the grand dining halls of the Red Keep, with seemingly a different set of lords and ladies every day. The nobility of the capitol vied for one another for his attention, laughed at even the very worst of his jokes, and hung upon his every word. Despite himself, Robin couldn't help but bask in this treatment; it reminded him very much of home, only bigger and better. In his heart, he had grown wiser, recognising sycophants and glory-seekers among his new companions-but still, he allowed himself to enjoy the flattery, comfortable in a sea of praises. Not in the least because the king never appeared at these public events.

Gradually, Robin noticed more faces he recognised in the ranks of the royal guard and the city watch; it appeared the Vale had begun to make good upon its promises in exchange for Robin's hand. Indeed, as Robin learned from Alyssa, the Vale had covered the cost of the upcoming tournament to celebrate the king's betrothal almost entirely. Ah yes. The words on everyone's lips. The Falcon's Tourney.

Over the next week, Robin watched as brightly coloured tents were erected, a jousting pitch was marked, and the field for the melee was prepared. The archery challenge was to occur between the two, with targets painted and set up to allow the shooters to impress at great distances. There was to be a singers' tournament too, where bards from all over the land would come to share their music, and a mummer's show to end it all. And, draped from the sides of every tent, the Arryn sigil flew right beside the direwolf. Brandon had altered his ancestral sigil for his own use, using a black wolf's head rather than a grey, and giving the beast a third eye. Finally, at the centre of it all, two enormous standards bearing the figures of a falcon and a direwolf, dominating the landscape and reminding all who attended why they were there.

It was tremendously exciting. As a child, Robin had never really dreamed of being a knight, like so many other youngsters did. There had been passing fancies, sure, but he much preferred to watch the action unfold from a safe distance. Besides-looking forward to the tourney gave him something to focus on…other than his soon-to-be husband…

Mercifully, Robin rarely saw Brandon around the Red Keep. He kept himself to himself, dealing with state matters, hearing grievances, and spending all his leisure time on the battlements, gazing off into the distance with those empty eyes. Frankly, this arrangement suited Robin down to the ground. For now, at least, he could enjoy all the perks of being a prince, the fine clothes, the company, the lavish entertainment-without the responsibility of actually being married to the king. This summery grace period, before the realities of being bound to a man he couldn't stand, couldn't last long enough.

On the morning before the day of the Falcon's Tourney, Robin returned to his chamber after breakfast to find Alyssa, sitting at the desk, her nose an inch away from the raven scroll in her hand. She wore an expression of upmost discontent.

"What's the matter?" he asked her, trying out his newfound practise of thinking of others.

Alyssa looked up, rather surprised to be asked. But she sighed. "Oh, nothing…it's just…" She pressed her lips together. "You see-my father promised to legitimise me after you'd agreed to-I mean-" She caught herself quickly, looking embarrassed. "I mean-after I'd proved a worthy daughter. But I've been searching for correspondence from him for days, and other than official reports of the Vale's expenditure to the crown, there has been nothing."

Hearing this, Robin smiled broadly. "Oh Alyssa, how wonderful!"

"I know." She managed a small smile in return. "I only wish he'd hurry up about it."

Robin paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps I can write to Lord Royce. Give his hand a push."

Alyssa narrowed her eyes, then leaned forward, looking most earnest. "It would be far better, Robin, if you could talk to the king. After all, I must be legitimised by royal decree."

A strange, nervous lunge rushed through Robin's stomach. He couldn't stand the thought of talking to Brandon at all, let alone ask him for a favour. However, he did very much want to help Alyssa. This was all new to him-wanting to help others. He almost didn't recognise himself.

"I will see what I can do," he promised, without commitment. "You deserve your family name."

"_Thank you_." Alyssa said, her eyes very solemn.

"Anyway," Robin turned from her, seizing his grey hooded cloak from its hook on the wall and throwing it over his shoulders. "I shall see you in a couple of hours."

At this-Alyssa pressed her lips together, getting to her feet. "Promise me you'll be safe, Robin. Don't do anything foolish."

"Of course I won't!" Robin scoffed at the very notion. "I am never foolish!"

Alyssa managed to suppress a snort, still clouded with concern. "I mean it. You're not just Lord of the Vale any more. You're almost a prince. Stay close by your guard, and keep your head down. I can still come with you, if you like?"

"No," Robin insisted, fastening his cloak. "I have to do this alone. I _want_ to."

"Gods be good, Sweetrobin…" Alyssa smiled sadly. "I do believe the capitol has been the making of you after all…"

* * *

Even with Ser Podrick Payne walking only a few paces behind him, close enough to hear his breathing, Robin still felt terribly exposed. He had requested that Podrick too wore a cloak to conceal his golden armour, but he still cut quite an impressive image. Robin liked Podrick above all other members of the kingsguard, finding him quiet and relentlessly respectful, and had thus requested him for this excursion. Indeed, now that Robin was almost a prince, he warranted a royal guard.

"We're almost there," Robin said to him, his boots neatly dodging a pile of dog dung on the cobbles of the backstreets of Kings Landing. "It's not far from here."

By way of a reply, Podrick merely nodded. He showed no signs of discomfort in such base surroundings, but Robin could tell that his hand was firmly grasping the hilt of his sword, in anticipation of trouble. This sent a shiver down Robin's spine, but he tried not to show it. This journey, as much as he hated to admit it, was not about him. Instead, he tried to focus on the fact that a handsome young man like Ser Podrick was here to guard him, to protect him, to throw himself between Robin and danger…that, at least, was a thought Robin could take some pleasure in…

At last, once again, they found themselves in the slum of Flea Bottom. That awful pungent smell of waste was thick in Robin's nostrils, almost choking him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a straggly black crow, sitting on the back of a cart of potatoes. His black feathers stood out on the sea of yellow-brown beneath him. Trying not to breathe in too deeply, Robin walked on, Podrick close behind.

Now the initial shock of the place had worn off, Robin could properly take in his surroundings. Not only was the place filthy dirty, with open sewers in the street, but there was plainly no provision of clean water. Despite Lord Tyrion and Grand Maester Tarly's efforts to provide clean water to the city, clearly, there was no such thing in Flea Bottom. Additionally, he noticed just how many of the poorly-clothed and emaciated residents of the slum appeared to have no source of employment. Perhaps this explained all the beggars he encountered as they walked. Most stirringly of all, Robin spotted more than one person endeavouring to catch rats and pigeons on the street, snapping their necks and stuffing them into their clothing to be taken home and eaten. The more he observed, the more he was sickened.

As they passed through a particularly repellent street that stank of urine-Robin spotted that crow once again. It stared right back at him with empty black eyes. Once more, he paid little mind to it, doubting that it could even realistically be the same bird. Besides-he had just been very much distracted.

Sitting alone on stained stone stairs, and looking wide-eyed and lost, was a little girl with straggly chocolate brown hair. Her sun-browned skin was freckly and grimy, her dress ancient and ripped. She could not have been much older than four or five. Repeatedly, she banged her bare feet against the stone, looking fearfully around her, as if expecting a lion to approach at any moment.

Instantly, Robin felt a kind of biting sensation in his heart. It was a long moment before he realised exactly what it was he was feeling. This was an entirely new sensation for him. This was…concern.

Carefully, Podrick close behind him, he approached the girl.

"Hello."

As soon as he spoke-the girl flinched away from him, curling up into a ball in an effort to protect herself.

"It's alright," he said, trying to make his voice as gentle as Samwell Tarly's had been the previous week in his chamber. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl didn't look as if she believed him.

"This is no place to be out alone," Robin told her, crouching down so that he was at her level. "Look-even I have my friend here to look after me." He gestured to Podrick, who looked most peculiar-but, breaking his mask of professionalism, he managed a kind smile for the child. Robin felt more warmly towards Pod than ever, but he concentrated on the matter in hand. "Where are your parents?"

At this word, the little girl's nostrils flared slightly. "Dead." she answered simply, her eyes much too old in so young a face.

"Oh dear," said Robin, genuine sadness in his heart. "I'm sorry…Mine are dead too, you know."

Very slightly-the girl uncurled herself. She looked up at Robin with those big green eyes, as if he were a map she was reading.

"This is no place for a child," Robin repeated, meaning it. Then-he held out his hand. "Show me where you live. We'll take you home."

After a moment more of distrust…the little girl appeared to resign herself. Then, she reached out a little dirty hand, and placed it in Robin's.

As she led him through the slum of Flea Bottom, Robin felt most strange. There was a lightness in his heart that he had never experienced before. Is this what it felt like to think of others? Still-although he knew he was doing the right thing, as he looked down at her grubby hand, he couldn't help but feel glad that he was wearing gloves. He wasn't ready to be quite that saintly, not yet. Behind them both, a delicate mixture of surprise and confusion in his face, Podrick followed, still grasping his sword. And, from the rooftops high above them, the black crow continued to watch.

Finally, they came to a large oak doorway, charred sooty, its hinges squealing every time the wind moved it. The little girl scurried forward, still holding Robin's hand, and knocked hard.

"_Alys_!" A Septa, dressed in modest grey, her head covered, threw open the door. Instantly, without even looking at Robin or Podrick, she bent down and scooped the child up in her arms. "Oh, thank the gods, thank the gods! Oh Alys, what have I told you? _Terrible_ things happen to little girls who wonder the streets! You mustn't ever, _ever_ go out alone again!"

Robin watched this display. Behind the Septa's skirts, he could see a bevvy of other children, small boys and girls dressed in worn clothing, all with that same haunted look in their eyes. There were at least twenty of them, perhaps more. It was at that moment that he realised where he was. This building was an orphanage.

"…do you hear me?" the Septa was saying. It was only at that moment that she noticed Robin. Instantly-she held Alys away from him, ushering the other children back with her free arm.

"It's alright," Robin repeated, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed, and meant no harm. "I found this child sitting alone on a step."

"Oh!" The Septa, whilst clearly stressed beyond belief, and hugely out of her depth, managed a small smile. "Well-Gods bless you, then. I'm just glad she was not hurt!"

"Yes, indeed," said Robin, taking a step forward. He looked again at all those dirty, skinny children, gawking up at him in his fine clothes as if he was from another world. Slowly-his eyes narrowed. "What provisions does this establishment receive for its upkeep?"

The Septa blinked hard, transferring Alice from one hip to the other. "We rely on the charity of men and women of the gods." she replied, properly taking in Robin's appearance herself, his accent, the uprightness of his stature. "And the Mother's grace…"

Robin pursed his lips. Now, he had all he needed to know from this visit to the slums. These people needed change-real change. And suddenly, as he had been the only person to help Alys, he felt that he was the only person who could help _all _of these half-starved children. And all the other half-starved people he had seen sitting listlessly in the streets...

Without a second thought, Robin reached into the pocket of his cloak, and pulled out a heavy purse. He placed it in the hand of the shocked Septa, which weighed it down considerably. "That's a start, anyhow," he said, more to himself than to her-before meeting her eyes. "When it runs out, come to the Red Keep. Ask directly for Lord Arryn, and accept no one else."

Then, without another word-he turned on his heel, and began to walk away.

"Thank you, my lord!" came the cry of the Septa behind him. "Gods bless you! Gods bless you!"

Inside, Robin felt a rush of warmth like nothing he had ever experienced before. As they made their way out of Flea Bottom, he couldn't help but give a happy little skip. Behind him, Podrick jogged slightly in his heavy armour to keep up. All the while, he gawped at Robin with befuddled eyes, as if he had never seen him before in his life.

"Do you know?" Robin called back to him. "I enjoyed that almost as much as I enjoy casting men through the Moon Door!"

Desperately, Podrick tried to keep a straight face. "_Almost_, my lord…"

Meanwhile, high above their heads, the black crow flew away.


	10. Jousting

**Hello all! Thank you so much for reading this, and especially to those who have favourited, followed, and reviewed! I appreciate each and every one of you so much. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy! xxx**

* * *

The week of the Falcon's Tourney dawned with a radiant sunlight that lasted for its entire duration. It seemed that half the world had turned out to watch the festivities unwind. The melee was first, lasting a full three days as the best knights in the kingdoms battled it out on a green field. Although there were a great many challengers from all corners of Westeros, it was Brienne of Tarth, knight of the Kingsguard, who was ultimately victorious. She had learned not only to be strong, but fast, and bested each and every opponent who dared approach her.

Next came the archery tournament, where men and women shot from wildly ambitious distances, earning great applause from the jubilant crowds. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Lord of Highgarden, shot well, but was defeated in the final round by a red-headed woman from the Riverlands, known only as Jenny Feathers, who claimed the prize from over a hundred yards. It had been quite the spectacle.

To no one's surprise, it was Gendry, Lord of Storms End, who triumphed in the hammer throwing contest, launching it high into the air with such speed and strength that the squire measuring the distances had to run to mark its place. The young lord accepted the ensuing adulation with grace and dignity, but he did not attend the party to follow that evening, where some of the best singers in attendance entertained the guests with songs of love and heroics until long after midnight. Robin found himself warming to the strong and silent Gendry, finding him even more handsome than he remembered from their first meeting-though he rather thought old Yohn Royce would have given him a run for his money on the field.

Finally, there came the most highly anticipated event of the festival-the joust. From his seat in the royal stand, Robin had a perfect view of the action, and was thoroughly enjoying himself. Aside from the gallant competition, the thrill of the charging horses and lances, and the warm sun, the best thing about the Falcon's Tourney thus far was that the king had yet to make a single appearance. Sitting alone in pride of place, now the official representative of the crown, Robin basked in his own glory. Before every round, the opposing knights would both bow to him, which he adored. It was a little taste of what his life would be like as prince…all without the cumbersome presence of Brandon himself.

As the previous loser was dragged off the pitch on a stretcher, Robin leaned back in his seat, taking another sip of wine and smiling to himself. He felt every inch a prince already. From the seats below him, Robin could hear Lord Tyrion discussing the champion's purse with Ser Bronn:

"Forty thousand gold dragons to the champion of the joust, twenty thousand to the runner-up, twenty thousand to the victor of the melee, and ten thousand to the winning archer." Bronn gave a sigh. "Shame I lost my focus…"

"I'll let you think that if it helps," Tyrion replied sarcastically. "But are those figures not excessive? That's almost one hundred thousand dragons in prizes alone."

"You want men to come and get knocked off horses for the entertainment of the fancy folk? You offer forty thousand dragons." Bronn folded his arms resolvedly, watching as horses were led up and down the sides of the track, so they would not be spooked. "The Master of Coin approves. Especially since Royce is footing the bill."

Tyrion paused for a moment, very aware that Robin was in earshot. "The Falcon's Tourney has been generously funded by Lord Arryn and our friends in the Vale." he said, rather grandly.

"Ooh, _sure_," Bronn rolled his eyes, oblivious to his surroundings. Then, he leaned forward, and whispered something to Tyrion that Robin could not hear. But before he could finish-the trumpets sounded. Another round was beginning.

"Ser Byron of House Swann, and Ser Melwyn of House Ambrose!"

Robin applauded politely along with the rest of the crowd as the two knights took the stage. One rode a black horse, and bore a shield emblazoned with ants, the other rode a white, and wielded battling swans. Ser Melwyn appeared to be quite the showman, waving to the spectators as he took his position, and smiling at every young lady he saw. Ser Byron, on the other hand, bared his teeth in a mask of determination as he pulled down the visor of his helmet.

Feeling, as always, very important indeed, Robin nodded to them as they inclined their heads to him in a mark of respect. And then-it was begun.

The two knights went two rounds without striking, the crowd in a frenzy of excitement. Melwyn contined showboating as he went, even miming a yawn as yet again, Byron did not strike. But then, just when the excitement became too much to bear-

It happened in less than a second. Byron's lance struck Melwyn right in the centre of his chest, knocking him flat to the ground. As his horse trotted on uncertainly, the crowd roared its disapproval-they had been rooting for the charismatic knight. Robin, meanwhile, had enjoyed the game, and was very much looking forward to watching the serious and brutal Ser Byron progress.

"Well hit!" he called, clapping.

Suddenly, as if he had lit a fuse-the booing crowd began to _cheer_. Robin did a double take, wondering what had caused them to change their hearts so quickly-before they realised that they had all followed his lead. He experienced a strange shiver passing through him, suddenly feeling the most powerful man in the world. He had heard stories of King Joffrey, Queen Cersei, and countless Targaryens who had let authority go to their heads-but now, he could see exactly how a man might change with such reverence…

Then-silence fell. Complete and utter silence. One could hear only the wind blowing through the tent canvases, and the neighing and stamping of horses. Halfway through conducting his lap of honour, Ser Byron climbed down from his horse with urgency, and fell to one knee on the ground. All those in the crowd followed likewise, getting to their feet and inclining their heads respectfully. Robin didn't need to hear the squeaking of wheels on wood to know exactly who had just joined him in the royal stand.

Obligingly, Robin got to his feet, out of respect for the crown and not for the man, just in time to see Brandon the Broken being pushed into place beside him by Grand Maester Tarly. Dressed all in black, and wearing his characteristic serious expression, he was in stark contrast with the rest of the bright-hued tourney. Robin could not help but feel like the sky had just clouded over.

There was a short silence. The crowd waited with baited breath at the first appearance of their king. Standing beside him, Robin had rarely felt quite so awkward.

Finally-Brandon carelessly raised one black-gloved hand, by way of feeble encouragement. "Go on."

At this, the crowd erupted into cheers, and the joust resumed as if nothing had happened. Robin regained his seat, feeling distinctly his demotion to being only the _second _most important person present. He was most resentful to loose that position to such a person as Brandon, but that could not be helped. Bracing himself, Robin prepared himself mentally for what was to come…oh Gods.

Oh _Gods_.

As he took in all the faces looking up at them, Robin realised that this was their first official public appearance as a betrothed couple. He was now Brandon's soon-to-be consort, and they were set to marry in a matter of weeks (the very thought of which made Robin sick to his stomach). Glancing at Brandon, he wondered whether he was thinking the same thing, although he gave no sign of doing so. But, however Brandon felt about the situation, he knew that they would be expected, at least, to have _some_ interaction with one another, or else it would look very strange indeed.

Grimly, Robin took a deep breath, and turned to face the king.

"Good afternoon, Your Grace." he said, trying to sound as pleasant as he could. The moment he spoke, Brandon blinked hard, as if he had just been brought out of a daydream.

"Yes," he answered shortly. "Good afternoon."

"I…" Robin swallowed hard. "I hope it finds you well?"

"Well enough." Brandon's responses did not look set to improve.

Silence.

Feeling immensely uncomfortable, Robin turned from him to watch the jousting once again. this time, Ser Byron faced off against a knight of Robin's own personal guard from the Eyrie. After several rounds without a hit-the Knight of the Vale knocked Ser Byron into the dirt. A huge cloud of dust flew up into the air as the crowd roared their approval.

"Oh, well struck!" Robin cried, leaping to his feet to applaud his own bannerman. "Well struck indeed!" In another desperate attempt, he turned to Brandon once more. "Was it not a masterful hit, Your Grace?"

"I suppose it was…" Brandon mumbled vaguely, staring off into the distance.

Robin steeled himself, determined to try a final time. "It is good to see you," he lied, smiling. "I thought you might miss the whole thing!"

Brandon gave a small sniff. "The Grand Maester insisted I show my face." he said bluntly, as if Robin was no more than a flea buzzing irritatingly in the corner.

"Oh…well…" Robin coughed delicately. "That's…er…" He coughed again, wringing his hands awkwardly in his lap. "Well…"

Silence.

* * *

"They make a lovely couple, don't they?" Bronn drawled as Sam took his seat beside him.

"Oh _don't_," Tyrion stole a glance up at the royal couple, who were almost comically mismatched. Both were equally uncomfortable, but while the king merely gazed unfocusedly up at the skies, Robin looked almost on the verge of tears. "I can't believe I am saying this, but I feel sorry for him."

"Which one?" Bronn raised an eyebrow. "Eh…Jumped up little shits deserve each other…" he murmured into his lap.

"My lord," Tyrion pretended to look affronted. "I could have your head for saying less."

"But you won't." Bronn sniggered slightly, taking a swig from his hip flask. "You'd miss me too much."

"Would I?" But Tyrion shot him a very significant glance. "My sources tell me that young Lord Arryn is causing quite the stir in Flea Bottom. Suddenly, all the little orphans have new shoes, three meals a day, and pillows on their beds…What's more, he won't stop talking to me about extending the water systems to include the very poorest areas of the capitol. One could almost believed he cared about them…"

"Really?" Sam looked delighted. "How wonderful! You see-I told you he'd do well in the end!"

"No you didn't," Bronn interrupted. "And if you think all it takes is a few bags of gold to clean up fucking Flea Bottom, you must have been born yesterday." He took another swig, in full flow. "The people in places like that don't _want_ fancy folk treating them like a charity case, or using them to earn a few points towards the Seven Heavens. If the young falcon isn't careful on his little field trips, he'll end up with his beak smashed in, you mark my words…"

Tyrion wanted very much to believe that Bronn was wrong…and yet, perhaps there was a certain logic to it. He glanced up at Lord Arryn, who was watching the jousting with far too much concentration in order to avoid looking at his betrothed. "Maybe we do need to exercise some restraint over Lord Arryn. There's nothing wrong with charity, but he is behaving rather recklessly. Soon he will be a prince, after all…"

"Yeah," Bronn got to his feet, presumably to relieve himself. "Gods help us all…" Without another word, he sauntered away, swinging his flask from his hand.

* * *

"…a privilege to see His Grace and Lord Arryn looking so very happy together!" Lady Carys clapped her hands to her chest, as if applauding their very presence. "Never has there been a more perfect alliance!"

Robin gave a tight smile in return, wondering how on earth she kept up this pretence in the face of such damning evidence to the contrary. Lady Carys was a noblewoman from the Crownlands, whom Robin often saw in court, and always at parties. She was quite beautiful, with a head of yellow curls, big brown eyes, and a rather raucous laugh. When she had first approached him at breakfast, the morning after he had become betrothed to the king, he had known her for a flatterer at once, and reminded himself constantly that such "friendships" did not come without conditions. But still, he did enjoy her constant stream of praises as much as any man would have; perhaps even a little more. When she had approached the royal stand to speak to him, Robin had known exactly what was coming at once. Fortunately, Alyssa had prepared him for such encounters. As the joust continued behind her, the Knight of the Vale unseated at last, Robin parroted Alyssa's answer almost word for word:

"I am blissfully happy beside my beloved king," he said, vaguely aware of said beloved to his left looking more uneasy by the second-and vaguely disgusted. "I am counting the days until we are wed. The gods have truly smiled on me, and upon the realm. I sincerely hope that you will continue to share in our good fortune for many years to come." He paused slightly, glancing at Brandon, who stared unwaveringly straight ahead, refusing to meet his eye or nor the eye of Lady Carys. Keeping his voice light and airy, he went on. "Isn't that right, _my love_?" As he spoke, he could not quite keep the slightest hint of venom from his tone.

At this-once again, Brandon's eye gave the slightest _twitch_.

Robin turned back to Lady Carys, politely nodding away. As she turned back to face the jousting pitch, Robin did not know whether to laugh or cry.


	11. The Riverlands

**Hello everyone! Thank you so very much for reading, and especially to those who have favourited, followed, and reviewed! It is incredibly kind of you, and I appreciate every single one of you! More tomorrow. I hope you enjoy this xxx**

* * *

On the final day of the Falcon's Tourney, the ultimate victor of the joust was due to be crowned. From the royal stand, Robin sat back in his chair, comfortable and alone. He waved to the squire behind him for more wine, which the boy did instantly, filling his goblet with a sweet red Dornish vintage. Frankly, thought Robin, as he took his first sip, he doubted he had been properly sober all week. He was sensible enough to go slowly, for Bastyn and Elliana back in Gulltown took pleasure in reminding him that he could not handle his drink, but he enjoyed the warm feeling that overcame him, the mindless happiness he experienced when he had drunk just enough.

This week-well, week and a half-had been sheer heaven. Apart from that singular appearance in the early days of the joust, the king had not watched any of the festivities at all, remaining locked up in the small council chamber, or sitting up on the battlements watching the sky. On one particular day, it had rained hard, so much so that the jousting had been temporarily postponed-but still, Brandon had remained firmly on the roof, as untroubled by the elements as he was by most things in the tangible world, not so much as flinching. He was far, far away…and, quite honestly, it was where Robin liked him best.

In the absence of the monarch, his betrothed lord sat in his place as the representative of the crown-and so Robin had continued to enjoy princely treatment for the duration of the tourney. No matter how many times he was bowed to, it never got old. Robin had almost smiled when he considered that his forthcoming wedding would guarantee him such treatment for as long as he lived. That was such a sweet thought…he thought of his mother, who would have been overjoyed to see her boy protected by kingsguard, seated in the royal stand, and enjoying such power…as he sipped his wine cup once more, he felt a familiar pang of grief.

Nonetheless, the final rounds of the joust were playing out before him. It had come down to only two knights: Ser Harman Errol of Haystack Hall, and Ser Stefan Vance of Atranta. Robin found himself rooting for Ser Stefan, who hailed from the Riverlands, his mother's ancestral home. This had not gone unnoticed by the crowd, who increasingly cheered far more wildly for Stefan than his opponent, following Robin's lead in a most satisfying way. However, Ser Harman, too, had fought extremely well, unseating every knight he had crossed lances with as if they were bottles upon a wall. He brought with him the fury of the Stormlands, and was also popular with the spectators. This final duel was sure to be a memorable showdown.

Robin grinned as both knights bowed to him. He noted their rather cheerful dispositions as they waved to their audience, shamelessly beaming at pretty girls and encouraging their friends in the crowd to cheer even louder. Indeed, if they survived this final charge, both would win sizable purses for their pains. Ser Stefan, who had red hair down to his shoulders and an attractive freckled face, saved a special smile for Robin, as if acknowledging their shared heritage. Perhaps it was the wine-but Robin swore his heart gave a slight flutter in his chest. Then, with a final wave, he lowed the visor of his helmet, ready to do battle.

"Oh, I hope Ser Stefan rides well…" Robin murmured to himself, thinking of how many knights had been dragged from the pitch on stretchers. He didn't think he could stand to watch that charming face and winning smile being smashed to pieces on the ground…

The knights passed by one another several times, without much incidence. Both horses seemed rather fatigued at this late stage in the games, and the riders had to work very hard to urge them on. However, at long last-there came the moment of reckoning. Ser Harman and Ser Stefan rode hard at one another, lances outstretched, shields close to their bodies. Robin watched anxiously as Ser Stefan kicked and kicked, forcing his horse faster and faster, until…

WHAM.

A second later-Ser Harman flew out of his saddle, airborne for a few moments with the force of the impact, before collapsing to the ground an inch away from the stands. He spat a mouthful of blood, and several teeth with it, before, finally, he threw his lance away, conceding his defeat.

"_Yes_!" Robin cried, leaping to his feet and applauding madly. Instantly, he was followed by the rest of the audience, all roaring their approval. It was always sweeter when the darling of the crowd won. Instantly, Ser Stefan removed his helmet, letting his long hair tumble out, and began his lap of honour with his teeth flashing in the late afternoon sun. He would leave the pitch with the glory of an honourable victory-and forty thousand gold dragons weighing down his purse. As the spectators hailed him, he brought his horse to a stop before the royal stand, and bowed his head to Robin-before flashing him another incredible smile. In that second, for less than half a moment-Robin did not feel like a prince any longer. There was a tugging in his heart, a desire for something he knew he could not have. Like the rest of the crowd, he was putty in Stefan's hands.

* * *

The party to follow the games was legendary. There was an enormous banquet, where the royal household and their guests were entertained by the winners of the singing contest, followed by dancing and music well into the night. Even the newly serious Lord Tyrion was seen to smile, whistling along to his favourite airs and becoming increasingly louder and funnier as he drank cup after cup of wine. Ser Bronn appeared to be engaged in some sort of card game with a crowd of friends, wherein the loser of each round had to drain their cup in one fell swoop. Ser Davos Seaworth could be found with Lady Carys on the dancefloor, who giggled and tossed her blond hair as she attempted, unsuccessfully, to teach him to dance. Davos seemed even less comfortable with the steps as he did on the battlefield, but he was a terrific sport, laughing good-naturedly as he tripped over his own feet. Ser Podrick stood guard behind Robin with all due ceremony-but he blushed as girls whispered and giggled at him, quietly enjoying himself. Meanwhile, Robin, who had just about passed the point of comfortable tipsiness into light drunkenness, watched over all from his seat, in pride of place. How wonderful it was to be him. How fabulous his life had become…There was only one small fly in the ointment-but that fly was nowhere to be found. _Good_.

Still, as Robin surveyed the plentifulness before him, all the fine food and drink, all the decorations in the grand hall, and all the gold this event had cost-he couldn't help but feel a slight pang in his chest. Little Alys's face swam into his mind, with her tiny dirty hands and huge, sad eyes…How could it be that he and his guests could live so well, while only a few miles away, so many in the slums went to bed hungry tonight?

This was a most depressing thought. Robin felt his mood fall as quickly as it had risen with the wine. Suddenly, he felt rather angry. Surely, surely this was not right…He pressed his lips together, resolving, by way of atonement for such mindless excess, that he would work harder than ever as consort to take care of the kingdom…of _everyone _in the kingdom…

"Your Grace!"

Suddenly-Robin was pulled rather abruptly out of his thoughts. Standing in front of him, long red hair falling into his face as he bowed his head-was Ser Stefan. He looked up, dimpled smile radiating his jubilance-and his brown eyes very warm indeed. Instantly-Robin's heart caught in his throat.

"Ser Stefan!" Robin greeted him, putting his wine cup aside. He felt a slight pink tinge appearing on his cheeks, as someone so very charming addressed him above his station. "It's still "My Lord", actually." he reminded him, grinning rather foolishly.

"Oh yes. Forgive me." Ser Stefan was utterly unwavering; Robin suspected that this had been a deliberate mistake on his part. He was not annoyed, however. Indeed-quite the opposite.

"Congratulations on a tournament well fought. You are a worthy winner."

"That is most kind of you." replied the handsome knight, with very becoming modesty. His eyes twinkled every time he spoke. Robin could not help but think of Brandon's eyes, so cold and dead in comparison… "I feel that I owe my victory to you. The tourney was in your honour, after all…" He paused. "My house has served your mother's family for generations. It was the very least I could do to fight for the Riverlands' honour…"

Robin was most enchanted by all this flattery, even more so than he ordinarily was. It certainly helped that it came from such an attractive mouth…he shook his head a few times, trying to see past the haze of an excess of wine to clarity. "I'm sure you will enjoy many more victories to come…"

Once more, Ser Stefan treated Robin to an unbelievable smile, those eyes shining in the candlelight… "For you, Your Grace…I hope so…"

Robin opened his mouth to reply, as yet unsure what exactly he was going to say-before, suddenly, a hush fell over the room. Those who had been seated got clumsily to their feet, those who had been dancing stopped. Gradually, the music died out, leaving the great hall incredibly hollow. Robin felt as if a rock had just lodged inside him as he realised exactly who must have entered the party. And, as he looked past Ser Stefan, he had never been less happy to see him.

Brandon the Broken was pushed into the hall by Brienne of Tarth, who was not celebrating her victory at the melee, but serving her king. At once, all present paid their due respect, bowing low. Grudgingly, Robin followed suit, wishing his conversation with Ser Stefan could have continued…oh Gods, why did Brandon have to ruin _everything_?

"Go on." Brandon waved his hand to the band, signalling that they ought to continue playing. This they did instantly, and soon the party was back in full swing. But Robin could not go back to enjoying himself, as he watched his betrothed slowly approach, like the rainstorm of before that had halted the joust.

"Your Grace." Robin greeted him, gritting his teeth and instantly retaking his seat. He took a long gulp of wine.

"Your Grace." Ser Stefan sank to one knee, bowing his head.

"Ser Stefan." Brandon greeted him, ignoring Robin. "Congratulations. I hear you rode splendidly."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Ser Stefan replied, still on the ground-but, slowly, he raised his head, hope flashing in his eyes. It was as if he was expecting something wondrous to happen.

"To recognise your victory, you may ask a favour of your king." Brandon continued monotonously. "If it is in my power, it is done."

At this-the hope in Stefan's eyes exploded into stars. Once more, hurriedly, he bowed his head, almost shaking with excitement. "Your Grace. Your Kingsguard is incomplete. I ask the honour of a place."

Robin's mouth fell open. Suddenly, he felt rather desperate. If Ser Stefan joined the kingsguard, he would be at the Red Keep all the time…that was a prospect that more than delighted him.

"Your Grace." Brienne of Tarth drew herself up to full height, looking almost offended. "As commander of your kingsguard, I must protest. Ser Stefan is a worthy champion, but being good at jousting, and being good at _fighting_ are vastly different. It would be irresponsible to allow him to guard you."

"A memory stirs." said Brandon quietly, turning to look at Brienne. "Did you not ask the same favour of Renly Baratheon at Bitterbridge?"

While Brienne looked quietly disturbed by her king's omniscience, Ser Stefan looked up at Brandon fiercely. "I squired for my uncle in the War of the Five Kings. He fought for the Riverlands-for your brother, the Young Wolf." He paused, breathing hard. "I was knighted by Brynden Tully for my valour when he retook Riverrun from House Frey. I held the castle against the Freys, and then against the Lannisters. When the Lannisters fell, I helped make sure Edmure Tully won his birthright back." Once more, he locked eyes with the king. "I served your brother. I served your uncle. Let me serve you."

Brandon was silent for a long moment.

"Ser Stefan is singularly talented, Your Grace." Robin suddenly interrupted. "I watched him all week. He is strong, valiant, and honourable. He is more than worthy to guard the king."

At this-Stefan shot him a small, grateful smile. Robin could not help but return it, as he waited to hear the king's verdict.

"All Ser Stefan says is true…" said Brandon, finally breaking his silence. "And so, it is done."

Robin's jubilation that Ser Stefan would join the royal household was clouded by Brandon's ignorance of him, once again. It was as if a stone sat in his heart, weighing it down and threatening to sink it. Oh,_ how_ could he ever stand to be married to him?

"Thank you, Your Grace!" Ser Stefan was bowing low once again, unable to stop grinning. "You will not regret this, I swear!"

"You will prove yourself." said Brienne darkly, still unconvinced. "I will not permit you to take your vows until I am certain you can defend the king."

"That is your prerogative, Ser Brienne," said Brandon lightly. "I trust your judgement entirely." Then, finally, he turned to face Robin. "Goodnight, my lord." was all he said. Then, without another word, he signalled to Brienne that he was ready to leave.

In a surge of fury, not unenhanced by the level of wine in his blood, Robin got to his feet, and hurried after the king. He simply couldn't believe that Brandon could be so rude to him. It was beyond reason-and Robin wouldn't stand for it. No. Not for a moment longer.

"Your Grace!" he called, as the door to the great hall slammed shut behind him. Brandon was already halfway up the corridor, but he stopped in his tracks at the sound of his name. Then-he had Brienne turn him around.

"Lord Arryn?"

Even at this distance, his eyes bore into Robin like beams of icy fire. Those cold, black abysses…as he looked back at him, Robin's courage ebbed away into nothingness. His tongue tied itself into a knot in his mouth. As he shrunk back, feeling immensely foolish, he groped desperately for something else to say.

"Alyssa Stone waits for her father's legitimisation." he stated, swallowing his pride. "She needs only a royal seal to become Lady Royce."

Brandon made no visible reaction. "Yes. I received Yohn Royce's request."

Robin swallowed hard, biting back his frustration. "Will you sign it, then?"

Brandon said nothing for a long moment. Then-he signalled to Brienne to move him on. "_Goodnight_, my lord."

As he watched the king disappear around a corner, Robin had to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming.


	12. Burn This

**Hello all! Sorry I uploaded so late today! Thank you so much for reading, and especially for reviewing, fave-ing, and following. I honestly appreciate it so much. More tomorrow! XXX**

* * *

Robin felt that he had scarcely blinked since the moment he had first climbed out of the carriage at Kings Landing and ascended the steps to the Red Keep. It did not quite yet feel like home; though, he doubted it ever truly would. But it seemed that the moment the tourney ended, preparations for the royal wedding began.

Thank goodness he did not have to organise it himself-he did not envy the men and women who dashed around the Keep like mice into holes, carrying decorations, flowers, and plans for everything from seating to the order of service, every detail meticulously timed to the second. Robin's only responsibility was simply to be; in other words, to do what was asked of him. On some days, even that felt a mammoth task…but as the days turned into weeks, the moment of horror drew closer-the moment he would be forever tied to a person he could not stand.

"Come on, Robin, stop being so dramatic!" Alyssa shook her head over him as if he were still a child. "You could give the mummers a run for their money. Of _course_ you don't hate the king! The idea!"

"But he hates me," Robin protested miserably, sinking onto his bed with a soft _flump_. "He can't stand the sight of me. Every time we are together, he can't get rid of me fast enough. He won't even _talk_ to me!" He hugged a scarlet cushion to his chest, burying his nose in the soft fabric. "Every day, I pray to the gods that he finds someone else. Some Dornish nobility, some pretty thing from the Reach-hell, a Dothraki screamer from across the Narrow Sea! _Anyone_ in the world but me!"

"Ridiculous!" Alyssa barked…before, her expression softened. With a small sigh, she sat down beside him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I know it's difficult. I know. I've seen how he is with you…" She paused, gently stroking his hair in the way she knew comforted him. "But you need to buck up. Do this for your people back in the Vale. Do this for all the children in Flea Bottom…" Taking a deep breath, she forced him to meet her eyes. "The king is a highly unusual person. He may even be unique. Brandon the Broken will go down in history as the boy whose visions saved the world. As the first elected ruler of the Six Kingdoms. And you…" She stroked his hair once more. "Your name will be written in the history books beside his, as his consort. Now, Sweetrobin, _you_ have the chance to decide what they say."

Robin knew that his companion spoke the truth. And yet…his heart was so heavy that he could barely breathe. Suddenly, with Alyssa's arms around him, the cushion on his chest, he felt that the walls were closing in on him. Oh Gods. He needed to get out. He needed some air.

"_Robin_!" Alyssa shouted after him as he fled the room.

He did not stop running until the wind rushed through his hair upon the battlements. Taking the gasping breaths of a drowning man, Robin lunged for the crenelated walls, staring out at the city, at the harbour and the bay, at the rest of the world across the ocean…For one, mad moment, he wanted nothing more than to run away. But where would he run? He didn't have a friend in the world…well. Except for Alyssa.

But he could not run to her. Feeling more wretched and helpless than ever, Robin leaned his elbows upon the wall and gazed out, out, out…as if, from sheer willpower, he could simply fly away…

"Your Grace!"

At the sound of the voice, Robin was so startled that he almost toppled off the edge of the Red Keep and fell. Steadying himself, he spun around-to see a young man with a head of flowing red hair striding towards him. He was dressed entirely in armour, carrying a greatsword by his side. There was a kind of athletic look about his stride, a certain glisten on his skin, as if he had just been training. Thank every god there was…it was as if he had fallen straight from the sky.

"Oh! Good afternoon, Ser Stefan!" Without so much as his instruction, a smile spread instantly over Robin's face. He simply couldn't help himself. Looking at Ser Stefan was like looking into the sun…. "You know, you _really_ can't call me that. Not yet." Absent-mindedly, he found himself touching his hair, smoothing it into place.

"I won't tell if you won't tell!" Ser Stefan grinned-and Robin was certain he caught the ghost of a wink. "Besides-I thought you looked every inch a prince at the games." The dimples on his cheeks flashed most attractively.

Whenever the knight spoke to him, Robin was left quite speechless. Ser Stefan seemed to be utterly shameless, flirting openly with the king's betrothed every time they met-especially now, on the battlements, out in the open air. If Brandon had been a jealous man, he might have lost his head for it. But then, Robin thought darkly, he doubted Brandon would notice if he suddenly grew another head… "Oh, I don't know about that," He gestured awkwardly to his habitual blue and grey, more aware of every small movement of his body than ever, trying desperately not to look stupid. "I still dress like a man of the Vale. Alyssa says that the bright colours of the capitol do not agree with my complexion."

"Your ancestors were kings in the Vale, were they not?" Ser Stefan did not miss a beat. "And who cares what Alyssa thinks? Who _is_ she, anyway? I keep hearing the name…"

"She's my…" Robin swallowed. "My friend, I suppose. Her father fostered me after my mother died."

"So…" Ser Stefan raised an eyebrow, looking mischievous. "She is nothing at all, then?"

Robin spluttered-but he couldn't help giggling guiltily. "Oh no, that's so cruel! She has been a constant companion to me. I don't know what I would do without her."

Ser Stefan merely raised an eyebrow. Somehow, he had the ability to make Robin feel both the most special and the most idiotic person in the world. "I am sure you would do wonderfully. So…why is it you have come up here all alone?" There was a twinkle in his eye. "You cannot be left unguarded. You are almost a prince. What a lucky thing it was that_ I_ happened to be passing by…" Suddenly-he drew his sword, brandishing it in the air. "An assassin could be lurking behind every corner!" He leapt in front of Robin, shielding him from imaginary enemies. "How terrible it would be to do me out of the honour of giving my life for yours!"

"_Stop_ it!" Robin cried-though he couldn't help laughing. "Someone will hear!"

"I don't care," Stefan looked back at him, chuckling too. "It is not as if I am doing anything wrong. I am merely performing my duty to my prince."

At this-Robin stiffened slightly. "I am not a prince yet…"

Picking up on the change of mood, Stefan ceased his playacting. He turned to Robin, seriousness filling those glorious eyes. "Is something wrong, my lord?"

Robin took a deep breath. With all his heart, he wished he could tell. And yet…he knew he could not. "No. _Thank you_, though." he said, meaning it. "You are so very kind."

"Don't tell anyone." Stefan pretended to look worried. "You'll ruin my reputation."

At this-Robin gave a kind of desperate laugh, far more uproarious than such a comment warranted. He simply couldn't help himself…Ser Stefan made him feel so _safe_…

Then…he wasn't laughing any longer.

Without the slightest bit of warning, Robin found himself looking deeply into those safe, shining eyes…which regarded him with such warmth…such beautiful warmth…He had not been touched in so long…he had not been kissed…and Ser Stefan was so…_so_…

"You have grown so beautiful…" the knight whispered, his voice honey, his breath honey… "I hope you will forgive me, but since the moment I first saw you, I just couldn't stop staring…I had to make sure you were even real…" He smiled straight at him, so close…too close… "And when I heard about what you're doing for those in need, the children in Flea Bottom…oh…I couldn't resist you…"

Robin gave a the slightest shuddering gasp…In that moment, he felt a sort of fear building inside him-along with a definite excitement…Oh Gods…Ser Stefan was looking right back…and he was only a second away…It would be so easy to simply…

"No." With a Herculean effort, Robin pulled back. "I can't. I mustn't."

Ser Stefan nodded understandingly, bowing his head. All around them, the sea wind blew. "I know…"

To see so lovely a face look so sad hurt Robin's heart. Oh, what he wouldn't give to be marrying someone who said such beautiful things to him, who looked at him with such warmth! Instead, he was trapped with a cold, glaring lord of ice…

Against all his better judgement-Robin spoke. "I want you to know that I regret it deeply. Most deeply."

Stefan gave a sad smile. "Rather selfishly, I am glad you do." He shrugged his shoulders, preparing to take his leave. Then…he stopped. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to give up." As if he had read Robin's mind, he lowered his voice to the faintest whisper. "You deserve better. If you ever decide you want better…you know where to find me…"

With that, and a final, lingering look…Ser Stefan was gone.

Feeling as though he had just run a great distance, Robin clutched the wall, panting. His whole body shook…and his mind was racing.

* * *

_Father,_

_All is prepared. Soon, Robin shall be lost to the capitol. I wait only for the king's legitimization, and then all we have dreamed will be reality. _

_Burn this._

_Your daughter, Alyssa. _


	13. The Crow

**Hello all! Oh my goodness, thank you all so much for reading, and especially to all those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! It honestly means the world. Hope you enjoy! More tomorrow! xx**

* * *

"…and so all is prepared for the festivities next Friday." Tyrion finished, shuffling the papers on the small council table. He looked up, unable to keep a hint of dryness from his tone. "The kingdoms have never seen a more joyous occasion…"

"Very good." Brandon nodded, either missing or ignoring his Hand's sarcasm. He sat at the head of the table, overseeing the meeting with characteristic detachment. It was curious, Tyrion considered, as he looked at his king. He knew that Brandon was engaged and listening, and yet his face betrayed not one hint of concentration. It was utterly impossible to tell what he was truly thinking; and, of course, the king never let on.

"And so to the matter of Lord Arryn," Tyrion continued. "The Grand Maester and I have devised a title for his seat on the Small Council."

Brandon did not speak, but merely waited for the answer. At once, Sam provided it:

"Master of Alms."

Slowly, the king nodded once.

"It is perfectly suited to him," Sam continued, looking pleased. "It plays to his strengths, and as there is no precedent, Lord Arryn can utilise the role as he sees fit." He gave a quick smile. "I truly think this is a positive step for both the crown, and the people it serves."

"And there is little room for disaster." Tyrion added, with a significant look at the king. "Yohn Royce instructed us not to give Lord Arryn any _true_ responsibility. Therefore, this new role is perfect."

Suddenly-Brandon looked straight at Tyrion, those staring eyes boring into him. "Some may argue that the welfare of the very poorest is the crown's _greatest_ responsibility."

At this-Tyrion was rather confused. It occurred to him that this was the first time he, at any cost, had heard the king openly defend Robin… "Apologies, Your Grace. You are right, of course. I am honoured to serve a king who has his priorities in order." _At last_. "Besides-under the council of Alyssa Stone, I am more than confident in the young lord's success."

Brandon did not smile. Although there was no alteration to his expression whatsoever…somehow, it darkened. "Alyssa Stone's access to Lord Arryn needs to be limited. In fact…" He gave a grim pause. "It must be severed altogether."

There was a short silence.

"Your Grace?" Tyrion began, more than a little surprised. "Alyssa Stone has proved her worthiness as council to Lord Arryn time and time again. She is the reason we are sitting here today. Without her, he would never have agreed to this arrangement at all."

"I am aware of that." Brandon answered shortly. "But that is irrelevant. She needs to be kept away from him."

Tyrion couldn't quite figure out the king's angle. He had known that Alyssa's legitimisation document had lay unsigned on the king's desk for almost a month-and yet, he had not questioned it. But now…he frowned. Brandon would not make Alyssa a Royce, and now, he wanted her banished from her companion's side. An image flew up in Tyrion's mind of Alyssa and Robin in the carriage, when they had travelled together from the Vale. Robin had slept with his head in Alyssa's lap. To separate them seemed almost…_cruel_. Like separating a bitch from her litter. Was there something Brandon knew about Alyssa that he had not shared?

"I understand that Lord Arryn is currently in Flea Bottom." Brandon continued. "Who has been sent to guard him?"

"Ser Stefan, Your Grace," Ser Brienne answered at once from her seat. "As requested by the lord himself."

At this news…Brandon's eye gave the slightest twitch.

"You ought to have sent a sworn knight of the kingsguard." he said, a strange look about him. "I want Lord Arryn protected."

Tyrion was more amazed than ever. A moment ago, they had been discussing the forthcoming wedding, and Brandon had not so much as flinched. But now-it was as if Robin was his greatest priority. Rubbing his forehead, Tyrion simply did not understand his king…Meanwhile, Brienne had plainly taken offence, though she tried not to show it. "I assure you, Your Grace, I would never have agreed to it, had Ser Stefan not earned my confidence. And believe me-my confidence is hard-earned. But I can send Ser Podrick to replace him, if that would please you?"

Very marginally, Brandon's jaw stiffened. "Yes. Send Podrick. Now." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Then kindly escort me to the battlements."

As he watched the king leave, pushed by a perturbed-looking Ser Brienne, Tyrion did not know what to make of it. Perhaps it was his imagination…but, for half a second, he was sure he had seen true discontentment in Brandon's face. Certainly, Tyrion thought as he left the small council chamber, Samwell in tow, this had been the most outward emotion he had ever seen Brandon Stark show…

* * *

"Goodbye!" Robin called, raising a hand in farewell-before a small brown-haired tornado crashed straight into his legs. Little skinny arms wrapped firmly around him, squeezing tighter than a vice-and a little voice piped up: "Don't go!"

"Oh Alys!" Septa Myrra called, standing with the other children as they saw Robin off-but she did not sound angry. The orphans of Flea Bottom were a considerably cleaner and healthier-looking bunch than Robin had first seen, and all smiled up at him, waving and calling out farewells. Despite himself, Robin couldn't help but chuckle. He patted the little girl on the head, feeling more fond of her than ever.

"You'll see me next Friday, on the steps of the new Sept of Baelor. I'll wave to you, I promise." He smiled down at her, as the Septa, with a good-natured roll of the eyes, outstretched a hand to prize her away. With a final goodbye, Robin stepped through the now familiar burned wooden door and out onto the street.

"How sweet!" Ser Stefan remarked, following close behind him. Despite his position, he had scarcely stopped grinning for the entire visit. Every time he looked at Robin, there appeared to be sunbeams emitting straight from his smooth, freckled face… "They adore you!"

Robin tried to look modest, but he couldn't help beaming. There was a slight sadness in his face, however. "I don't feel I am doing nearly enough for them, though…Follow me this way, I want to check something."

Obediently, Ser Stefan let Robin take the lead through the streets of the slum. Indeed, it was still incredibly grim, but there were certain small changes that were observable. Not just in the orphans, but the crowd of listless souls who sat on the sides of the road was noticeably thinned. The reason for this lay just around the next corner.

They came upon a scene of several busy streets, which converged around a square. In the centre of the square, there was a small plane that must once have been grass, but now was merely dirt. However-it was currently undergoing quite the alteration. Men and women of Flea Bottom could be found all around it, either digging or lugging stones. A small distance away, a trench was being built, a trench which would eventually become a pipeline, stretching all the way into the hills, wherefrom clean water was pumped…Robin was so excited to see his dream being realised that he had to suppress, a little skip.

High above their heads, hidden amongst the chimneys, a crow watched over them.

"Good afternoon, my lord!" A large man with dirty yellow hair and several missing teeth greeted him with a wave of the hand. Instantly, Ser Stefan clutched the hilt of his sword-but there was truly no need for it.

"Ah, good afternoon, Kayerts!" Robin rounded upon the supervisor of his project-a man from Flea Bottom itself, no less. Kayerts had managed a large shop in the city centre, before it had folded, leaving him and his family destitute. A month ago, he had been begging on the streets. Now, he was back in his element; in charge, and telling those around him what to do. "All going well, I hope?"

"Oh yes, my lord!" Kayerts grinned. "Very happy with progress, very happy indeed! We're slightly ahead of schedule, actually."

"Well, I hope you're not working yourselves too hard." Robin looked all around him at the workers. Huge numbers of them had been in the same position as Kayerts, some with even more pathetic tales. Some had lived in Flea Bottom all their lives. But now, all had employment, building the well that would bring clean water to their families. "And are they happy with their wages?"

"Oh yes, my lord!" Kayerts nodded emphatically. "An honest day's work and fair pay for it! This is a different world…"

"I'm delighted to hear it." Robin nodded respectfully to the man. "Well, I shan't keep you a moment longer. Come to me if there is anything else you need."

As they left the square, Ser Stefan jogged forward a few paces to catch up with Robin, walking along side him through the backstreets. From on high, the crow flapped its wings, hopping dexterously along the rooves after them. "I don't know how you've done it." Stefan was saying admiringly. "Look at this place! It's unrecognisable!"

Robin's heart soared at such an honour-especially as it came from Ser Stefan…but he kept his face neutral. "There is still so much to do. And it isn't all me. It was Samwell Tarly's idea to employ local people to build the well."

"Whatever," Ser Stefan chuckled slightly, giving him a deeply significant look. "You are far too modest. Can't you see how amazing you are?" He paused, looking at the ground, before lowering his voice. "How amazing _I_ think you are…"

Robin's heart fluttered so wildly that he was amazed it was not visible through his shirt. Oh, Ser Stefan…true to his word, he had not given up. It had been such a _whirlwind_-hardly had it been a week since they had met, and yet...Robin knew that it was wrong, terribly wrong, to even think of another man when he was to marry the king in just over a week's time…but, every time he looked into those warm eyes, or received that most charming of smiles…he just couldn't help himself…

"Please." he whispered back, not meaning it. "Don't."

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Stefan kept his voice light and jovial-but there was always such a serious undertone to his words. Every time he spoke to Robin, it was as if his heart poured out of his mouth. "Let me praise you. It's the least you could do."

Robin fidgeted slightly as he walked, feeling unworthy. "I'm really not all that wonderful. Alyssa tells me I used to be a little monster…I think I am probably still half a monster…"

"Well, you hide it well, then." Stefan refused to be defeated. As they turned the corner into a narrow alleyway-he stopped in his tracks. Surrounded by dirt and graffiti-spattered walls-he turned to face Robin. "But I can't hide this. I can't _stand_ it." he whispered passionately. "I can't stand that you're to be married, that you're absolutely miserable about it, and there is nothing I can do."

"I am not miserable!" Robin protested loyally…though, as he looked at the man who had so quickly captured his heart, he felt such feelings of honour all but melt away…

"Yes you are. You can't pretend with me." Suddenly-Stefan reached out-and took Robin's hand.

Automatically-Robin made a half-hearted attempt to pull away…but his hand was so large, so warm, so comforting…he couldn't quite manage it. "Please." he whispered instead. "Please…_don't_."

"If you truly want me to let go, I will." Stefan hissed fiercely, holding fast. "And if my hand has offended yours, I shall cut it off, I swear! Only tell me you _truly_ want me to stop! Only say the word, and I will!" He waited, looking desperately at Robin…but Robin didn't say a word. Not a single word. He wouldn't…or he couldn't…"I knew it." Stefan murmured. There was elation in his voice, pure, unadulterated elation. "I knew…"

"Stefan,_ please_!" Robin begged him, close to tears. "This is so dangerous!"

"I don't care," Stefan whispered, drawing even closer. "I swear I don't. It's worth it. _You're_ worth it. Oh _Robin_…" He dropped to his knees-and kissed Robin's hand. "I can't stand to be around you-and yet I feel half myself when I am not. It is terrible in equal measures! And yet you are so wonderful that I feel I would bear it for the rest of my life, if it only meant I could see you!"

Robin couldn't speak. He felt a tear spill down his cheek as he looked down at the face of them knight before him…so young, so hopeful, so romantic, so full of life…He shivered as he felt the ghost of the kiss upon his hand…

"Stefan…" His voice sounded scarcely his own. "Oh Gods, Stefan…I-I like you so much….I-I don't know what to do!" More tears fell, as he shook with fear and confusion.

"Don't do anything." Stefan got to his feet, still clutching Robin's hand hard. "You don't need to do anything at all…" Then-he buried his other hand in Robin's hair, and pulled him close. "Only this…"

Robin was powerless. He was absolutely powerless to do anything at all…and, as Stefan's lips met his, tasting of courage and of his own salty tears…he could do nothing but kiss him back…


	14. The Bastard of the Vale

**Hello all! Thank you endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have followed, fave-d, and reviewed! It honestly means the world, seriously xxx I hope you enjoy this! More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

Feeling immensely wrong-footed, Tyrion knocked hard on the door.

After a moment, it opened to reveal a young woman with a long dark plait, dressed in blue and grey. "Lord Hand?" Alyssa enquired politely, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "It seems very early for a visit. I'm only just dressed. I'm not sure Robin will even have risen-"

"I'm not here to talk to Lord Arryn." Tyrion answered patiently. He had thought it better to get this most unpleasant of tasks out of the way sooner rather than later. Wanting to be as delicate as possible, he lowered his voice, and tried to look kind. "I need to talk to you. Would it be possible to speak in private?"

"Of course." Alyssa opened the door wider, allowing him into her room. It was quite small, with only a simple bed, and a desk that was covered in letters and writing materials, but it was as close to Lord Arryn's room as it was possible to be. This fact made Tyrion even more uneasy. It was akin to separating a mother bird from her chick. And Tyrion had seen for himself how strongly Robin formed attachments to mother figures...

"Look." he said, choosing his words most carefully. "There's no point beating about the bush. The king has decided that your immeasurable talents would better serve the realm from the Vale itself, rather than from the capitol."

Alyssa was silent for a moment as she took in the true meaning of these words. "So…The king wants me to go home?"

Tyrion felt guiltier by the moment. He truly hated being the bearer of such objectionable news. Particularly since he did not know exactly as to why it must be imparted. It seeemed that Brandon had chosen not to share this detail with his Hand...Nonetheless, Tyrion's job was to assist and advise the king-and not, in this case, to question his motives. "Yes." He paused delicately. "I understand that this must come as a shock. I imagine to be separated from Lord Arryn will be very difficult for you. But-"

Suddenly-Tyrion noticed the slightest glint in Alyssa's eyes. "When must I leave?" she asked, her voice slightly higher-pitched than usual.

Once again, Tyrion had to blink slowly to contain his amazement. "Well-as soon as you are ready, I suppose."

"Very good, my Lord Hand." Alyssa nodded understandingly. However-her eyes were still shining.

Tyrion gaped at her for a moment-before giving a small, uncomfortable laugh. "I must say, I did not expect you to take this news so well! You and Lord Arryn are so close-and, well, I _did_ rather hope that you would stay and counsel him-the young prince will need it-"

"Lord Hand," Alyssa interrupted, looking far more pressed by something else. "As I will be gone, will you ask the king to legitimise me?"

Tyrion paused. He had been half-expecting this question, and had an answer prepared, although it was not the answer he wanted to give. "His Grace is currently extremely preoccupied with other matters, such as the forthcoming wedding. I am certain, if you father's request is in order, it will come in due course."

With this, Alyssa looked satisfied. "Thank you, Lord Tyrion. It has been a pleasure working with you. I look forward to my next project greatly…" She paused, suddenly looked harassed. "Serving the king in the Vale, of course."

"Of course," Lord Tyrion agreed. "You will do splendidly, I am sure…Though one does wonder how Lord Arryn will fare here without you…"

* * *

Robin sobbed as he watched Alyssa's ship leave the harbour. Standing on the battlements of the Red Keep, he watched and watched and watched through his tears as the blue falcon-emblazoned sail grew smaller and smaller, before it disappeared over the horizon.

Burying his face in his hands, he cried bitterly, shoulders shaking as the wind blew all around him. Now, he was alone. Truly, truly alone…how could Alyssa leave him? How could his mother leave him, how could Uncle Petyr leave him…why did everyone he loved desert him?

Alyssa had been strange when they had said goodbye. She had hugged him hard, and apologised more times than he could count. She had stroked his hair, and dried his tears as best she could…but when she had climbed aboard her ship to Gulltown…she had not looked back.

He_ hated_ her.

No he didn't. He loved her. Alyssa had only done what the king had commanded.

What _Brandon _had commanded…

Robin cried harder. It was terrifying to be alone in this city of liars and strangers; to be all alone in the world...

* * *

"But you're _not _alone." Ser Stefan protested, holding him close. "You have me."

Robin sniffed into his armour, leaning into his broad shoulder. "I know. But Alyssa has looked after me for so long. She's like a sister to me. I don't know how I'll ever cope without her!"

Stefan didn't say anything else. He simply held him. Robin was more than grateful; as he was for every moment they could steal together. Ser Stefan always knew just what to say, just what do to comfort him. Locked together in Robin's chamber, it was as if the rest of the world had simply ceased to be. There was only Stefan. Only him…

"I'm so unhappy!" Robin moaned, finally honest in the privacy of this snatched hour. "I don't know how I can get through the wedding without Alyssa!" He paused, feeling a new surge of tears welling behind his eyes. "I don't know how I'll get through it at _all_!"

"You don't have to," said Stefan, stroking his hair. "No one can make you. You can still walk away."

"I can't!" Robin shook his head resolvedly. "I have to do this. For the realm."

"Oh, Robin…" Stefan kissed his cheek hard. "I wish there was something I could do…"

Robin sniffled, shaking his head. "It is all so horrible. Brandon will never hold me. He will never care about me. He will never look at me with any measure of affection…not like you do." He pulled Stefan closer and kissed him with the saddest sort of desperation. "I _need_ to be held. I_ need_ to be touched. I need someone who will look after me! I can't bear it on my own!"

"I know…" Stefan whispered, making small, soothing sounds as he consoled him. "I know, darling…but I am here. I will do all of that, and more."

Robin kissed him again, trying to pour his thankfulness into the kiss. Still, when it finally broke, he was sadder than ever. "But it's not the same-you know it's not. And once I am married to the king…this will become even harder…"

"We'll make it work," Stefan swore. "I mean-if Queen Cersei and the Kingslayer could find a way, we certainly will."

"_Please _don't compare us to-"

"And if the king won't look at you kindly, I will a thousand times a day. If the king won't hold you, my arms will be waiting whenever you need them. If he won't care about you, or look after you, I will spend every day dedicating myself only to the pursuit of your happiness…"

"Oh, darling…" Robin's heart soared and broke at the same moment. He felt far too full to manage anything more.

"You watch over all those people down in the depths of the city. Someone has to watch over you." Stefan held him so tightly it almost hurt. "And I always will. No matter the risk. I adore you, Robin."

"I adore _you_…" Robin breathed, quivering, overwhelmed with it all-before they fell into kisses once more...

* * *

For the second time that day, Tyrion knocked on a door, rather dreading what he would find on the other side. At the king's invitation, he bypassed Ser Podrick, who stood guard outside, and entered the private rooms of Brandon the Broken. As usual, he found them simple, and very reminiscent of Winterfell. For all Brandon protested that he was little Bran Stark no longer, his décor very much suggested otherwise.

"You wanted to see me, Your Grace?"

"Yes." Brandon answered. He sat with his back to Tyrion, facing the window. He appeared to have been gazing out of it for some hours.

"What's the matter?" The Hand sensed a thick atmosphere.

Never one to mince his words, Brandon merely spoke: "Lord Arryn."

"Yes?" Tyrion frowned. "What about him?"

"I saw Ser Stefan kiss him in Flea Bottom." There was no change of intonation to his voice. He may well have been discussing the weather. However-Tyrion was a highly perceptive man. There was little that surprised him these days. Delicately, he coughed.

"Well." he began. "That's certainly a development." He had to admit; he was a little impressed. What a quick operator the young knight was…Then again, he imagined, it probably wouldn't be too difficult to sweep poor naïve Robin off his feet…

Still, Brandon's face and voice were absolutely blank. "Lord Arryn has expressed some troubling thoughts regarding our marriage. He says that he is deeply miserable. That he finds me cold, and believes truly that I hate him."

Tyrion fought down the response on the tip of his tongue-_I wonder why that could be_…Instead, he merely waited for the king to continue.

Brandon was silent for a long moment. Then…he reached down, and turned the wheels of his chair so that he faced Tyrion head on. With slight hesitation…he began to speak. "I think, if I were still Bran Stark, I might have found all this terribly upsetting…"

Tyrion nodded curtly. "Understandable, Your Grace…" Then, cautiously, he went on. "It would be more than understandable...if you were upset now…?"

The corner of Brandon's eye merely twitched.

"I wonder whether I _am_ upset…" he said, slightly pensively. It was as if he was merely interested in the possibility of it. Still, there was no echo of emotion in his voice…but perhaps, there was something that might once have resembled it… "I am not sure I would know."

At this, Tyrion couldn't help but feel sorry for the young king, who was yet so old.

"You are my hand, Lord Tyrion." Brandon continued, staring at Tyrion in that curious, soul-reading way. "What is a king to do with a knight who kisses his betrothed?"

"Well." Tyrion rubbed his hands together, pursing his lips. "I know what Joffrey would have done. I know what Cersei would have done. And I know what Daenerys would have done. The question is, Your Grace…what would _you _do?"

Brandon did not respond right away. One could almost see that remarkable mind working behind his pale forehead. When, at last, he did respond, it was with characteristically cold tenacity…and yet, there was something else mixed in that Tyrion could not identify…But the words were beyond dispute.

"Take him to the Black Cells."


	15. The Inevitable

**Hello all! Sorry for a late, and very short, entry today! I promise there will be a longer one tomorrow. As always, thank you, thank you for reading, and for fave-ing, following, and reviewing! I value you all so much and am so glad you've stuck with this! *Much excitement to come soon*…xxx**

* * *

Of course, Tyrion had been expecting it. He had been waiting all day for the inevitable. But when the moment came-he was almost at a loss.

"_What have you done to Stefan_!"

Robin stormed into the small council chamber, screaming, eyes wild, hair flying. For the first time in a long while, Tyrion saw the ghost of his younger self in the rage that was written all over his face-and, certainly, in the words that poured out of his mouth.

"_If he has been hurt on your orders, I swear I shall not rest until you have flown through the Moon Door_!"

Tyrion did not react in the slightest to the rather empty threat. Indeed, he rather thought that, if Lord Arryn had not been so desperate, his fury may have been quite amusing. At it was, the Hand got carefully to his feet, raising his hands in a gesture that was both calming and surrendering. The best he could do here was to diffuse a situation that could quickly fall out of hand.

"Do you think I am a man who delights in the suffering of others?" he reasoned, trying to keep his voice level. "Do I look like Joffrey? No. You have my word that Ser Stefan will be neither tortured nor maimed while below-"

"'_While below'_!" Robin cried out. His face had turned quite pale, so much so that he appeared rather ill. Suddenly, an immense fear struck the young lord to the very soul. "He has done nothing wrong-_nothing_! He is a good man, an innocent man, whose only crime was to care for me when no one else did!"

Tyrion fought harder than ever to remain cool. "Ser Stefan has been detained on the orders of His Grace. His actions were foolhardy at best; a dalliance with the betrothed of a king is among the most hazardous things a man can do. The boy knew the risk, and yet he followed through anyway. Perhaps it was genuine affection…perhaps it was merely the flush of youth. Either way-he must answer for his behaviour." He paused, taking a step towards Robin, his hands still raised, as if he were calming a spooked horse. Significantly, he lowered the volume of his voice, and looked very grave. "I must advise you not to speak so freely of these matters. Listen to me now, and hear me later, my lord: you must not say a word that may incriminate you too!"

But Robin was far too wild to see sense. "Then I _ought_ to be incriminated! This was all my fault! He only did it because I was so wretched! Oh Gods, how can I be so _stupid_?" Suddenly, he grabbed vast handfuls of his hair, tugging them in his fury so hard that he almost pulled them out. "I am still a monster! _I_ am the one who should be below! I am the one who deserves to be punished!" Tears streamed thick and fast down his thin cheeks as sheer terror consumed him. "If-if he is-if he _dies_ for this…I-_I_-"

"_Robin_!" Tyrion barked. His voice echoed throughout the chamber, right up to the vaulted ceiling. Too late, he realised that he had used the lord's first name-and not only that, but a childish nickname. But, as the shock of such an address broke through-Robin looked up, gaping at Tyrion with huge, frightened eyes.

"Do you realise what you are saying?" he hissed, drawing even closer. "Do you know where you are? When you are this close to the throne, any wrong move could be your last…"

Robin said nothing. He merely gulped, looking as though he might faint at any moment.

"For your information," Tyrion continued, hardly above a whisper. "Ser Stefan protests that _you_ are the innocent party in the matter. He maintains that he was the sole pursuer, and that you are blameless. If you know what is good for you, you will stick to that story like it was written in the Seven Pointed Star."

"No…" Robin wailed, his hands clasped over his mouth. "I _can't_-"

"_You will_." Tyrion maintained a fierce eye contact. "Think of Alyssa. Think of your friends in the Vale. You cannot undo all of their work for the sake of an arrogant knight from the Riverlands. Let this be a lesson to you, Lord Arryn. Once you are a prince, your choices cannot be solely your own any more. They affect us _all_."

At this, Robin's skin turned from paper to chalk. There was no doubt that he was close to swooning. Pre-empting this, and very aware of the boy's delicate health, Tyrion took him firmly by the arm, and sat him down in a chair. Once seated, he slumped alarmingly sideways.

"All is not lost for your friend," he said, his voice rather gentler as he leaned close to the young lord, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. "The king may yet be merciful. But if you want to help him, you will stop this nonsense right now, and start acting like a prince!"

Hardly aware of himself in his delirium, Robin's eyes began to glaze over. "I don't want…to be a prince…" he stammered, his voice a thousand miles away. "I don't want…_Brandon_…I…I _can't_…" As he spoke the name, more tears flowed. "He…is _killing_ me…"

Tyrion could cope no longer. As he looked at Robin, half-weeping, half-fainting, he wished with all his heart that Alyssa was still here. Oh, for the sake of the gods, why did Brandon have to send her away? She was the only one who could ever talk sense into the lord of the Vale…

On the matter of the disgraced young knight, sitting alone in the Black Cells beneath their feet…in his mind, Tyrion conjured the image of Brandon in his chamber the day before. The emptiness, the coldness in those endless black eyes…If he had still been a gambling man, Tyrion may not have bet his own life, but he may have bet Robin's, that Monkoen's deadly machine may be tested upon the neck of Ser Stefan…


	16. The Seven Hells

**Hello! I'm so sorry-it's another late and short one! Here is half the chapter I planned for today. I promise, tomorrow's chapter will be far more substantial and exciting. Once more, thank you endlessly for sticking with me and sorry to let you all down! xxx**

* * *

It was past midnight when Robin snuck out of his chamber. Holding a single candle aloft, he stole through the sleeping corridors of the Red Keep, moving quickly and silently. He had already donned his disguise-a long dark cloak, hooded to cover his face. The candle barely lit his way, and he dreaded the darkness that was soon to come. Even as a child, he had feared the dark intensely; the blackness in the small hours frightened him to the point of spending almost every night in his mother's bed. Of course, she had never objected once, and soon, all attempts to place him back in his own room had ceased. Seven, eight, nine, ten, into double figures, and still sleeping with his mother. It was only the advent of Uncle Petyr that had forced him to sleep alone once more. Robin still remembered that night; his bed had felt as vast as a field, and cold, so cold. There was something so comforting about a warm body beside him, that he could cling to for comfort. Perhaps that was why his visits to Gulltown had grown so frequent…

He did not recall much of the previous day. After he had swooned in the small council chamber, he had found himself jerking awake in his own bed, with Samwell Tarly by his side. Since he was half-hysterical, howling and unable to breathe, the grand maester had given him essence of nightshade, and he had finally fallen asleep. But when dawn had broken that morning…he had been wide awake.

Finally, Robin snuck into the bowels of the Red Keep, down and down, into the dungeons. As the temperature dropped several degrees, he found himself entirely encased in endless, windowless stone. There was stone above him, stone below, and stone all around…Summoning every bit of his bravery, Robin began to slowly descend the spiralling staircase downwards into the darkness below. Every foot he drew farther away from ground level, the chill intensified-and so did the blackness. But for few infrequent torches, there was absolute nothingness. Robin felt as though he was climbing right into the Seventh Hell.

There was one sure-fire way to tell that he had gone far enough down. The Black Cells were characterised by the fact that the torches on the walls had stopped appearing long ago. Trembling in his disguise, Robin stared at tiny wooden door that led to the most infamous place in the city.

Though it had taken a full day of watching and waiting, it had been comparatively easy to steal a key. It was much harder to push it into the lock and turn it, knowing what he would find on the other side.

By the dim light of the candle, Robin found himself in a black stone room with a low ceiling. The smell that hit his nostrils almost choked him. He could not identify it-but it was vaguely reminiscent of Flea Bottom. With his narrow torch, he looked around and around, searching every corner, until he found-

"Look away, Robin." came a thin, croaking voice from the darkest corner. "Look away. I don't want you to see me like this."

"Oh Stefan!" Robin ran forward so desperately that he almost spilled his candle. As the door creaked shut behind him, he illuminated the figure of the young knight, sitting hunched against the wall. Without a sword by his side, or armour on his shoulders, he looked half-complete. His red hair was tangled, his freckled face dirty, and his eyes had lost their shine-but, undeniably, it was the man Robin adored. "What have they done to you?"

"Shh!" Stefan hissed warningly-but he threw open his arms just in time for Robin to collapse into them. He smelled appalling, and he felt sweaty and grimy, but Robin did not care in the slightest as he kissed his dry, cracked lips. "You shouldn't have come. But it's good to see you." He paused, giving a half-hearted chuckle. "It's good to see some light!"

"Of course I came!" Robin set the candle on the floor, and cupped Stefan's face in his hands. "I could never leave you down here. Look-there isn't much time." He got to his feet, trying to pull Stefan with him. "I'm certain I could sneak you out through the tunnels below, and out onto the bay. I know it has been done before. It is dangerous, but-"

"No." said Stefan gently, pushing Robin down by the shoulders. "You're right. It's much too dangerous. Besides-I have never ran away from anything in my life. I don't intend to start doing so now."

"But it might save your life!" Robin wouldn't give up, trying once more to yank him towards the door-but Stefan was too strong.

"And it might cost you yours." He shook his head, looking gloomily up at his attempted rescuer. "If the king means to take my head, I don't want to walk to the block and see yours looking down at me from Traitor's Walk."

"No!" Robin was both shaken to the core by the calmness with which Stefan spoke of his own death-and mortally offended. "They couldn't! I am Lord Paramount of the Vale, soon to be Prince of the Six Kingdoms, and-!"

But Stefan was laughing again, his eyes more devastatingly sad than ever. "I do love it when you recite your titles. But no title could save you if your husband discovered you'd freed a prisoner from the Black Cells. Please, darling," He gripped Robin's hand tight, his fingernails black with filth. "Do not throw your life away for me."

Despite his desperation, Robin knew that he was right. Instead, he simply crumpled to the floor, and into Stefan's lap. "It _kills_ me to see you down here. And it's all my fault that you are!" Burying his face in Stefan's shoulder, he tried heroically not to cry-and failed dramatically.

"_No_." Stefan shook his head determinedly, rubbing his quivering back. "All I told Lord Tyrion was true. I pursued you, from the very beginning. I knew the risks, and I took them anyway. And now, I must suffer the consequences." He paused, combing his fingers through Robin's hair. "And damn it, but I'd do it all again, even knowing the ending, if it meant I could hold you one last time…"

Robin sobbed into his dirty shirt. He seemed to do nothing but weep lately-and all with good cause. "Don't speak of last times!"

"We must." Stefan insisted courageously, his voice steady. "If this is to be the last time we are together, then I mustn't have any regrets…" He paused, giving another little chuckle in spite of himself. "Darling, I went to bed the night before I was arrested dreaming up all these plans of how I was going to smuggle you out of the Red Keep somehow, and get on a ship with you to Pentos…"

"To Pentos?" Robin shivered. He had never imagined such a thing could be possible.

"Pentos." Stefan sighed, clutching him tighter. "I could have sold my services with my sword to look after you. We could have lived by the ocean, under the warm Essos sun…" He paused, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I always loved the sun. I do believe we would have been very happy."

Robin felt his stomach drop through the floor. _Pentos_…The idea of running away sounded terribly romantic and exciting, just like a song…but in truth, Robin knew that he could never leave Westeros. Not as long as he lived. It was in his bones. Still…he had to let Stefan dream. It was still all very new to him, considering the feelings of others before his own…but he thought he was getting a handle on it.

"Of course we would have been." Robin answered instead, nodding reassuringly. "But you still could go to Essos. Or Dorne. Wherever it is sunny all the time." He straightened up slightly, forcing Stefan to meet his eyes. "I will plead for you."

"No!" Stefan leaned away, looked half-mortified. "I will not have you begging for my life!"

"I will make sure you survive this!" Robin stroked Stefan's face, feeling the scratchy unshaven cheeks. "I have changed Flea Bottom already. I know I can change Brandon's mind. I will do everything I have to, I promise." He took a deep breath. "I will speak to the king. And I will not rest until you are free."

"Oh Robin…poor, sweet boy…" Stefan kissed him, looking close to tears himself. "You can sing your song to the Raven. But don't get your hopes up. I am certain I am lost." He said the words valiantly; but Robin could see the fear behind his eyes. The youthful burst of energy that always lived there had grown frightful. This man was too young to die.

"I won't let them hurt you…" he whispered into Stefan's mouth. "I _won't_."

"If they do." Stefan began, finding Robin's hands and holding them so tightly that it was painful. "If I am to die-promise me you will be there. I want your face to be the last thing I see in this world…" He paused, giving a strange sort of gulping noise.

"It won't come to that." Robin promised, furiously wiping his face.

"You…were the best of my days…"

"_Stop it_!" Robin cried, forgetting for a moment to be quiet. With a final, lingering kiss, he got to his feet, clutching his candle in both hands. "I swear to you, Stefan-I will raise the Seven Hells before I will marry the man who kills you." Cloak trailing on the soiled floor, he swept to the door, fiddling with the key until it slotted into place. Full of a bravery he did not know was in him, he turned it. "I am going to see the king. Alone. _Now_."


	17. Gods and Men

**Hello! Thank you endlessly for reading, I honestly appreciate each one of you so much. Thanks especially to those who have fave-ed, followed, and reviewed! It is incredibly kind of you, and I really hope you continue to enjoy. More tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

Bracing himself, Robin raised his fist to knock on the door-but before he could do so, he heard a slow, solemn voice from inside the room:

"Come in, Lord Arryn."

Robin was almost used to this mystical behaviour from the king by now, but still, a shiver coursed down his spine. He looked so unassuming, small and pale in his chair, that it was easy to forget his omniscience. If Brandon had known that Robin was coming, perhaps he already knew the reason for his visit. He wasn't certain whether this made things easier or harder. But, summoning all his courage, he outstretched a trembling hand to open the door.

As soon as he entered the royal chamber, he remembered the last and only other time he had visited this place; the night he had agreed to marry the king. Perhaps now, he would undo that agreement.

Brandon was not in bed, and neither was he dressed for bed; he sat in the same clothes he had worn all day, beside the window, facing the door. It was clear that he had been waiting for Robin for some time. There was no cruelty in his thin, white face…but neither was there much of anything else. As always, Robin felt quite frightened of this most curious of kings…however, picturing Stefan languishing below, he hardened his soul.

"Good evening." Brandon greeted him, as if visitations past midnight were perfectly ordinary.

Robin licked his lips, taking a deep breath, before he opened his mouth to speak-

"I suppose you have come to speak to me about Ser Stefan." Brandon pre-empted his words with cool indifference. Still, his eyes bore into Robin like icy moonbeams.

"Y-yes." Robin stumbled over his words, but stood his ground. "I have…" He swallowed hard. "I mean-what you must understand is-"

"I have seen everything already." interrupted Brandon smoothly. "I have heard every word the two of you have ever exchanged."

At this, Robin felt his cheeks turn a delicate shade of pink. Sickness stirred in his stomach-but he squared his shoulders, forcing himself to speak. "I know what I did what wrong. What-what _we_ did was wrong. But…" He took a step towards Brandon, trying to appear braver than he felt. "I will not let him die for this. _That_ is far more wrong. And if you give the order to execute him…I swear I will not marry you."

The king did not look surprised by this ultimatum. Instead, he merely looked interested, inclining his head forward the smallest fraction. "I see. Thank you for being honest with me." He paused. There was a strange silence in the chilly stone room. Robin looked down at the person he was due to wed in less than a week…and felt nothing but loathing.

"I want you to let Stefan go."

At this, Brandon narrowed his eyes the smallest millimetre. "I can't do that."

"Why?" Robin demanded, feeling braver by the moment. "His only crime is caring for me!"

Once more, a strange sort of interest clouded Brandon's face. "It is curious that you use the word "care"."

Blinking, Robin was more taken aback than ever. He opened his mouth-then closed it again.

"You have always relied on someone else to look after you…" Brandon continued, never breaking his eye contact. "Right from the moment you were born, you have never had an inch of independence. First, there was your mother, who smothered you with misguided love. Then, there was Alyssa, who controlled and abused under the façade of love and guidance without you even realising it."

"Wait!" Robin cut in, suddenly confused. "What do you mean by-"

"Now, there is Stefan," Brandon did not stop. "Who promises to take care of you, here, or in Pentos. Always, through your whole life, politically and personally, someone else has made all your decisions. You have been infantilised by everyone you have ever met."

Robin's mouth gaped open. He did not have the faintest idea how to respond.

"I see everything," The king tilted his head slightly to the left. "But I don't always understand. You stand before me in your majority, and yet everyone in your life still treats you like that little boy in his mother's lap." He paused. "I won't do that. I never will."

"Alright!" Robin held out his hand to try to quell the flow of uncomfortable truths from Brandon's mouth. "You always have so much to say. But I don't understand how this has anything to do with Stefan-?"

"I listened to all the things he said to you," Very slightly, the corner of Brandon's eye twitched. "He rivalled the greatest poets in declarations to you. I ought to know. I have heard every poem ever conceived…" Slight discomfort crossed his face. "You basked in his words. You think, because I am not a poet, that I cannot possibly care for you as he does."

Certainly, of all the things he expected to hear from the king, this had not been close to any of them.

"I understand, Robin…" Brandon said softly. It stuck Robin at once that this was the first time Brandon had referred to him by name. "I have watched every love story there ever was unfold before my eyes. You and Ser Stefan are following the example of thousands. But I want you to know that just because I do not fill your head with empty words, it does not mean that I hate you."

Robin listened, rather enraptured.

Once more, Brandon's eye twitched. The more he came to know the king, the more Robin realised that this was a sign of discomfort. However, to his amazement, the king forced himself to speak. "Lord Tyrion has informed me that I have not made myself clear." He paused. "Once and for all, I want you to know that…" The eye did not stop twitching. "I think that you are…" It was as if the words physically pained him. "That you are…" Then…his throat closed. Dismissively, he shook his head. "It does not matter. But I swear to you that I do not hate you. And I do not want to hurt you, nor make you unhappy. Not ever."

Robin unknotted his tongue. "Actually, I _would_ like to hear-"

"The point I am trying to make," Brandon continued, his voice as clear as a bell. "is that when I asked for your hand, I knew exactly what I was doing. When others looked at you, they saw a spoiled child that they could manipulate for their own ends. But I could see something else in you. Something that no one else could; perhaps, even something you could not see yourself…" For the very first time, the smallest shadow of what had once been a smile crossed his face. There was no sign of a physical smile-but the indication was definite. "I knew that the realm needed Robin Arryn. Not the puppet lord. Not the spoiled child. But Robin Arryn. The _good man_."

A short silence fell over the room.

"On the subject of Stefan." Brandon continued. "Lord Tyrion tells me that I owe you an apology."

Unable to hide his shock for a moment longer, Robin's mouth fell open.

"It is my fault as much as either of yours. According to my Hand, I pushed you away, and right into his arms. You felt isolated by me, and by the capitol. You are not to blame."

Although these were evidently Tyrion's words, Robin could not help but believe them. They poured so sincerely from the mouth of the king, it was impossible to suspect otherwise.

"I am a vessel of truth," Brandon continued, as if he had read Robin's mind. "In order to fulfil my destiny, I had to kill the boy I once was. In doing so, I lost much of what made me human." He paused. "Therefore, I will not infantilise the young man before me, and I will not speak empty lines of poetry to him. But I will speak the truth, and nothing else. I want him to take agency of his own life, and serve the realm as I know he can."

Robin waited.

"You understand that I cannot free Ser Stefan. And you cannot be allowed to see him." Brandon pursed his lips. "But this is a lesson I will take to heart."

Taking a shuddering breath, Robin spoke. "So what becomes of him?" His voice leapt an octave higher than it naturally was.

"I am not certain." said Brandon vaguely. "But if his death would displease you, I will not command it."

At this-Robin let out a sigh of relief so intense that he doubled over. His hands wrapped themselves tightly around his waist as his forehead nearly bounced off the stone floor. Looking up at Brandon, he felt hot tears spring into his eyes. "_Thank you_…" he gasped out. "_Thank you_…"

"So the wedding is to go forward?" Brandon asked, unaffected by Robin's display of emotion.

Fighting for breath, Robin straightened up. He looked straight at Brandon, feeling as though he was standing on the edge of a high cliff. He regarded his soon-to-be husband, so cold, so unfeeling…and yet, so honest. "For the realm. For the people." _For Stefan_. "I will marry you."

Once, and only once-Brandon nodded. "Thank you, Robin."

With that-Robin fled the room, hurtling down the dark corridors of the Red Keep and back to his chamber. Half of him was soaring as high as a kite-Stefan would live. And yet…something very strange had taken root inside him. _Brandon, Brandon_…the king he could not stand. And yet…suddenly, the possibility of change washed over him like the tide…

Itching with tiredness, he crawled into bed with his head spinning.

* * *

Brandon sat still, beside the window. The night breeze was bitterly cold, but he barely noted it as he stared at the place in which Robin had stood only moments before.

Every time he looked at Robin, the Robin who had grown so much in so short a space of time, the Robin who had done so much good with his new freedom…he found himself torn.

Brandon was the Three Eyed Raven. And he was King of the Six Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. It was his destiny. And, because of who he had become, he had helped save every person in the world…But, every time he looked at Robin, he missed Bran Stark. He missed everything that Bran Stark would have said, everything that Bran Stark would have felt.

The words. The poetry. To a person who had seen the world begin, who had seen the stars exploding in the sky, who had seen dragons fly and gods fall…it all meant so little to him. The little lives of humans were so insignificant in the grand scheme. Thoughts, feelings, actions…they were nothing at all. Nothing.

But then…there was Robin. And beside him, beside his brightness, his goodness, his beauty...all the glory of the universe had began to fade away to black...

How illogical it all was. How...how _human_...

He didn't know how to say it. He did not have the words. But every time he thought of Stefan kissing him…it was as if he was falling from the tower all over again….Was this…was this_ jealousy_? Brandon wasn't sure he could tell.

Gods. He wished he was still Bran Stark. He wished it every time he looked at him. Bran Stark could have held him. He could have looked at him kindly. And he could have cared for him in every way he wanted. How delicious it was to simply be human…to appreciate how extraordinary Robin was with all the fullness and foolishness of his heart…

As it was…he could not.

Robin would never know. Brandon could not express it-he did not know how. But it was the truth. In his own way, in the only way he knew how…Brandon loved him.

* * *

**SPOILER: Weddings are coming...**


	18. The Falcon and the Raven

**Hello all! Thank you endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! I am totally overwhelmed by your kindness, and I sincerely hope you will stick with me! Very exciting things to come...I hope you enjoy! xxx**

* * *

Robin stood still as his hair was carefully combed into place, and his cloak was hung just right over his brand-new wedding clothes. He wore delicate shades of grey and pale blue, the cloak fine velvet, and secured with a broach that bore the Arryn sigil on his chest. He did not know the names of the people who dressed and brushed and polished him to perfection. The faces of the staff had begun to blur into one as the final preparations for the wedding consumed the Keep. It was all so horribly overwhelming; his isolation within the capitol was profoundly obvious, and keenly felt. More than ever, he wished Alyssa was still here…Gods, he wished his _mother_ was here…his stomach felt as though it was full of snakes.

Less than an hour. Only minutes. That was all that was left of his life as Lord Arryn. And then…he would be-

Robin closed his eyes as the silver crown was placed upon his head. He felt the cold weight of it settle. Then…he forced himself to look in the mirror. Reflected in the glass, he saw a frightened-looking boy with a cold wreath of metal feathers that wrapped around his skull, perfectly made to measure. At the front, there were two small blue sapphires that glinted in the sunlight, set beautifully into the feather design. Robin's breath caught in his throat. This was it. He was minutes away from becoming Prince Robert of House Arryn…and he had never felt more wretched in his life.

As a child, the prospect of becoming royalty had delighted him. Seven hells, it was that childish ambition that had pushed him to come to the capitol in the first place. To wear a crown, to be all-powerful, to be bowed to by all he met…Robin's younger self would have been absolutely ecstatic. Happy beyond reason. On cloud nine. And yet, all he felt was dread.

"It's time, my lord."

As Robin was led from the Red Keep down to the new Sept of Baelor, under armed kingsguard, he could almost taste his heart in his throat. Oh Gods. He could already hear the bells ringing wildly over the city. Why did Alyssa have to leave him? Why did Stefan have to leave him? As alone as he felt, however, perhaps it was a good thing that Stefan was locked up far below his feet in a dark cell. He wasn't sure he could stand to marry another man with the one he really wanted forced to watch…

Still, as Robin approached the Sept, he considered Brandon's words of a few days before. Now, there was no one left to care for him. He would have to learn to look after himself. Still, such a difficult lesson was less than ideally played out in front of a crowd at one's own wedding…Robin's stomach gave another sickening lunge. He thought of all the nobles waiting for him in the Sept…he thought of the common people, standing at the base of the steps, hoping to catch a glimpse of the royal couple after the wedding ceremony…and he almost doubled over to vomit on his new boots.

_Breathe. Breathe_.

At the end of the day, there was only one person he had to cope with.

Brandon.

The moment had come.

_Breathe._

Robin_ held_ his breath as the vast, seven-pointed star emblazoned doors of the Sept creaked open. High above his head, the bells rang fit to burst. Each one felt like a death knell.

The new Sept of Baelor bore much resemblance to the old. The statues of the Seven were virtually indistinguishable from the ones that had been lost in Cersei Lannister's obliteration. Mother, Father, Maiden, Crone, Warrior, Smith, and Stranger oversaw the round room from on high. The walls were made of bright white sandstone, the stained-glass windows casting a rainbow of colour onto the floor, which was decorated with a golden star. It was a vast and beautiful room…but Robin scarcely had time to think upon this as he stood at the top of the stairs, ready to begin his descent into the heart of the Sept.

The crowd of guests lined the path at the foot of the stairs, creating an aisle between them to the platform between the statues of the Mother and the Father, where the Septon stood, waiting. Robin recognised some familiar faces in the crowd: Lady Carys and her husband, Ser Davos Seaworth and his wife, Bronn of the Blackwater and his, and an array of other nobles from every corner of the Kingdoms…All were dressed in brilliant vibrant colours, befitting a supposedly joyous occasion. As Robin walked down the centre of the aisle, all around him, faces turned bright with smiles to match.

But Robin scarcely paid any mind to any one of them. His eyes were solely focused on the figure who waited for him with the Septon. The figure who was, in a very short time, to become his husband.

Brandon the Broken watched Robin walking towards him, wearing his habitual expression of…not very much. Even from a distance, Robin could feel those eyes cutting into him like frozen knives…With such a repellent persona to contend with, and such a difficult manner, Robin generally found it difficult to find anything physically attractive about the king. However, today, he did have to admit that Brandon looked rather handsome. He wore very simple black, fur lining the black cloak that hung gracefully around him. But for the silver wreath on his head, also decorated with delicate metal feathers, one would never have known he was a king. Rather than sapphires, his crown bore three black diamonds in the centre, one large and two smaller, set beautifully into the feathers. It was a most beautiful thing, without being overtly extravagant. A perfect fit for both the king, and the occasion; joining falcon and raven together.

However-when Robin thought of Stefan, so charming, so affectionate, so full of warmth…he wanted to weep.

He did not recall much of the rest of the walk. Vaguely, he noted Lord Tyrion, standing closest to the king at the foot of the stairs-but the rest of the crowd blurred into a wash of colour as he came to stand beside Brandon. Beside…his _husband_.

As silence fell, Robin swallowed hard to quell the vomit threatening to crawl up his throat. He stood with his head held high, trying not to show an inch of fear…but his trembling hands gave him away.

"Your Grace," the Septon began in a slow, rather monotonous voice. The moment he started to speak, Robin felt like a caged animal, about to be lock up for the rest of his life. "My lords, my ladies…we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness this union. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever…"

Stealing a glance at his groom, Robin's stomach did a sickening backflip. Brandon would not stop staring at him. Those eyes, those eyes, like icy rays, bore into him so intensely he felt as though he was being looked right into. Why did the king have to gaze so? He tried to remind himself of Brandon's assurances that he did _not_, in fact, hate him; but, while he was being studied so closely, and with such coldness, it was difficult to feel certain of that. For all the world, as Brandon stared, Robin felt that he was detested…

* * *

Brandon had seen the first sunrise after the Long Night; the sun illuminating the sky and warming the earth for the first time in a generation. He had seen the first dragons born in Valyria, seen their wings stretch into gossamer and their first breaths choked out in puffs of smoke. He had watched the first ice blocks of the being Wall laid, the Iron Throne being forged, cities rising and falling as easily as the tide. He had witnessed Rhaegar Targaryen's secret marriage to Lyanna Stark; two ethereally beautiful young souls in love, whom kingdoms could not tear apart. Indeed, there was nothing he had not seen. And yet…none of it, not a bit of it, filled him with wonder, took his breath clean away, as much as the person standing next to him right at that moment.

The tiniest human portion left to him, the shadow of Bran Stark, felt choked inside his heart. He wished with all his might that, just for today, just for this moment…he could be himself again. Then he could feel, he could express, he could tell him everything…

Brandon had regretted that there were no Godswoods in the South, before which he could have been wed. The faith of the Seven meant almost nothing to him, with their elaborate prayers and rituals. He was of the North, of the Old Gods…but it hardly mattered now. As he looked up at Robin, he knew that the only important thing was that they were married at all. His dear, beautiful, wonderful Robin. How could he ever look away?

* * *

_For the sake of the gods, stop staring_! Robin inched away from the king as far as it was possible to do so. Once more, as he had so many times in Brandon's company, he felt like a mouse in a field, being stalked by an owl. As he glanced at those unmoving, unblinking dark eyes, a shiver coursed down his spine. It was so _awful_…How could he ever bear a lifetime of this?

But it was already too late.

Brandon's hand felt like a cold jellyfish around his as the Septon bound them together with a length of ribbon, tying them firmly with a tight knot. At that moment, it occurred to Robin that they had never physically touched before. His skin felt cool, unfamiliar…and unwelcoming. Robin felt as though he had just been chained up like a dog.

"Let it be known that Brandon of House Stark, and Robert of House Arryn, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

Robin had to suppress a shudder.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."

Finally, the ribbon fell away. But, of course, symbolically, it would always remain, binding them for the rest of time…

"Look upon each other and say the words."

Relieved only that he could let go of his hand, Robin turned to face the king. Those cold, unfeeling eyes were twice as terrible when faced head on…but he had to stand his ground. The eyes of the kingdom were watching him. He had to perform…

As one voice, the king and the new prince spoke:

"_Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days_."

Robin's breath was entirely spent by the end of the declaration. It was done. It was finished…and he felt nothing but grief inside…

"With this kiss." Brandon spoke suddenly, his voice echoing quietly around the Sept. He looked straight at Robin, his expression impossible to read. "I pledge my love..."

Robin's stomach gave a horrible jolt. He had been dreading this moment. Slowly, trying to bury his disgust, Robin bent down. The king made no attempt to move, nor to make contact. He merely watched, and waited. It was Robin who had to lean in, draw close…closer than he had ever been to the king in his life…before, with immense regret…he placed a small, dry kiss on the very corner of Brandon's lips.

After a second of awkwardness-the crowd inside the Sept burst into cheering. Robin could hear them alright-their applause of approval was impossible to drown out. But still, he felt as though he had just been cast into water. In a single kiss, he had become a prince…and a prisoner.

Brandon had not reacted in the slightest to the kiss, nor to the cheers, sitting as still as a statue in his chair. But, after a moment, one pale hand rose, and the fingers pressed themselves to the corner of his mouth. _Probably to wipe it_, Robin thought darkly, as he turned to face the jubilant crowd. He tried his best to smile, for it was expected of him, but only delivered a wonky sort of grimace…this was his life now. _Prince Robert_…he could not grow accustomed to it. Once more, the crowd blurred before him as he stood beside his husband, a new prince, and scared out of hit wits.

Together, with Podrick Payne pushing the king, they made their way to the other enormous set of star-splattered doors that led out of the Sept. The snakes in Robin's stomach awoke with a vengeance as they prepared to be presented to their people, as the newly-wed king and consort of the Six Kingdoms. This was it. For the first time, he would face the world as a prince…

As the bells rung out their joyousness, high above them, the doors creaked open to reveal-

Robin physically gasped as the sunlight hit him-and the sight before him met his eyes. Never, never in his whole life, had he seen so many people. There had to be…hundreds and hundreds of thousands! Vast numbers of people, dressed in the common way, were gathered at the bottom of the stairs! It seemed all of the City Watch were there to hold them back! And, as soon as the royal couple were revealed-Robin was _deafened_ by the wall of sound. Cheers, applause, shouts of approval-one could almost physically see the waves of noise!

Floored by this reaction, Robin did not know quite what to do. It was as though his body did not belong to him any more, and he did not have the slightest clue what to do with it. Feeling half delirious, he turned to Brandon, his heart thumping fit to burst in his chest.

"They adore you!" he burst out, completely and utterly in shock.

Brandon seemed utterly unmoved at this display of devotion to the crown. Instead, he merely looked at Robin, something most curious playing in his eyes.

"No. Listen to them."

Robin did so…and, as he tuned into the white wall of confusion…he began to pick out one word. One word, shouted over and over again, in a hundred thousand voices, rising up as one:

"_ROBIN_!"

Robin could not believe his ears.

"_ROBIN_!"

There were no words to describe how Robin felt at that moment. The Seven Heavens could have opened up before him, and he doubted he would have experienced anything close to the way he felt on those steps, listening to the common people, those he cared so desperately about, those whose lives he was working to improve, shout his name. He found himself trembling all over as he watched the City Watch push the crowd firmly back with their shields, only just about managing to keep them at bay. It was otherworldly. It was_ insane_. It was unreal.

"It is_ you_ they adore." Brandon said simply. He had not broken his gaze at Robin for a moment. "They know who brought them water and work. Who fed and clothed their children. You are _their_ prince. And they love you…"

Robin could not speak. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing desperately that his mother was here to see this…before he opened them once more, blinking back the emotion that had gathered behind them. Then, for the first time all day, for the first time in so long…he smiled.

There was no regal dignity in the smile. It was an all-out, teeth-baring smile of pure elation. Giving a strange sort of hooting laugh, Robin shook his head time and time again-before, far in the depths of the crowd, sitting on someone's shoulders…he saw a little girl with dark hair, waving a skinny arm at him fit to burst. _Alys. _

Instantly-Robin raised a shaking hand to her, just as he had promised-and so to the rest of the crowd. He simply smiled-smiled and smiled-and he could not stop.


	19. Bedding

**Hello all! Sorry this is so late; I didn't have wifi all day. Honestly, I can't thank you enough for reading this, and I do hope you're enjoying it. More tomorrow 3 Special thanks as always to those who fave, follow, and review. Just thank you xxx**

* * *

Of course, to follow the wedding, there was an enormous celebration. All around the gardens of the Red Keep, blue and grey awnings and buntings were hung, with the Stark and Arryn sigils constantly replicated on flags and banners so that the unity of the two great houses was understood by all. The entertainment was incredible; all through the beautifully decorated tables where the guests sat, fire-eaters and jugglers weaved, musicians played in every corner, and there was more wine than even twice the number of attendees could possibly drink. The food was more than extravagant; the tables groaned under the weight of the spiced meats and exotic fruits, as well as sweet cakes and breads, that covered them. It was a party to rival even the wedding of Joffrey Baratheon (though the grooms were altogether less offensive).

Robin felt empty and full at once. He had eaten, and he had certainly drunk more than perhaps he ought to have, which filled him physically. But, as he sat on the high table beside his new husband, he felt distinctly hollow.

It was impossible to sit at such a wonderful wedding and not enjoy oneself, especially as he was the star of the show, at it were. He relished the congratulations and adulations, of course-and it did not hurt that everyone now bowed to him, and called him "_Your Grace_". The sapphire crown upon his head grew more comfortable by the hour (though he put this down at least in part to the wine). However, although the ribbon around their hands had long since been untied, he felt its presence more than ever.

Brandon did not appear to be enjoying his wedding; although Robin was not sure he could tell either way. His expression never changed in the slightest, after all. The king simply sat, watching the celebrations unfold as if they were nothing more than a wall of paint drying. It was difficult; Robin rather wanted to wander about, to talk to their guests, even to dance. But now, he knew, he was tied to his husband. He couldn't leave him alone at their own wedding. And so, Robin sat, and he smiled, and he laughed-but that hollowness was more acute than ever.

Robin looked up at the sky, wondering if his mother was looking down upon him at that moment. What would she think of Brandon? More importantly-what would she think of _him_? Sitting here, almost nineteen and on his wedding day…Would she be proud? He hoped so, with all his soul, he hoped so…

Still, as he looked out at the crowd, he couldn't help but miss Stefan dearly. His warm, friendly face would have been so welcome, next to Brandon's cold, uncaring demeanour…oh Gods, what he wouldn't give for one of Stefan's smiles right now!

* * *

"Well," said Tyrion, draining his cup and leaning across the table. "Who would have thought this day would really come?"

Bronn made a small, non-committal noise, calling his young squire forward for more wine with a careless flick of his hand. "Like I said. They deserve each other."

Tyrion looked up at the royal couple, seated together at the high table. Certainly, he could get used to the idea of them as being married-with their dark hair and pale complexions, they were well-matched indeed. Robin looked every inch the part of a prince; tall, handsome, and wearing his new crown remarkably well. However, even a blind man could have sensed his discomfort beside the king.

Then again, it took a certain kind of person _not _to feel uncomfortable in the presence of Brandon the Broken. Tyrion liked to think that, after working with him for a number of years, he had become that kind of person. But still, there were some days when Brandon's cold, harsh stare disquieted even him…whatever went on behind that floppy dark fringe, that high, white forehead? Knowing so very much about the world, having all those thousands of years condensed and bottled up like the biggest library in the world…it was a hinterland that fascinated Tyrion. All those stories…and yet, he considered, there were a great many things in the world that one was simply better off not knowing…

"Oh, come on, that's not fair!" Samwell Tarly was saying, shaking his head in earnest. "Our new prince has made leaps and bounds with the common people-right at a time the crown needed some good press. I don't think anyone has ever had so great a reaction on the steps of the Sept. They _love_ him." He smiled rather fondly. "And frankly, I'm warming to him myself. Despite his faults, his heart is in the right place…"

Bronn sniffed dismissively. "Don't go letting the king hear you talk like that about his husband. He'll have you stuffed in a black cell with that poor lad from the Riverlands in the flap of a wing."

At the mention of Ser Stefan, Tyrion's jaw clenched. "Brandon had to act. There was nothing else he could have done. The fact he hasn't already taken the boy's head makes him twice as temperate as Joffrey ever was…"

Bronn raised an eyebrow. "All I'm saying is: it takes two to tango." He took a large, thoughtful gulp from his newly-filled cup. "If Robin's played away once, he'll do it again, mark my words. Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots. _And frankly_," he said, mocking the Grand Maester. "I don't blame the lad one bit. I mean…" His face became contorted as he jerked his head towards the high table. "That stare alone. I mean, if I were the Arryn boy, one look and I'd have run a mile…"

"Then thank heavens you're not," said Tyrion dryly. Slowly, he was beginning to realise just how drunk he was. He had not drank so much in…well. He couldn't remember. "Our new prince has more fortitude than any of us gave him credit for. If you ask me-"

"No one did." Bronn interrupted lightly.

"-I think they'll be very good for each other." Tyrion finished. "Brandon is wise, and Robin is popular. An ideal combination. And as for any _playing away_…" He took another large drink of wine. "I think Robin has learned his lesson. Most of us aren't lucky enough to marry the one we truly desire…" He paused sadly, remembering… "But all of us must learn to cope." Then, sensing that the conversation had taken a downward turn, he forced himself to smile once more. "Besides-a discreet bit of whoring on the sly never hurt anyone…" He thought of the surprise he had planned, and couldn't help but give a secret smirk…

"I'll drink to that." Bronn raised his cup and drained it. Then-he tilted his head to the side, a thought having suddenly occurred to him. "Seven hells, is there going to be a _bedding ceremony_?"

Tyrion's eyes widened slightly at the thought-but he quickly shook his head, lowering the tone of his voice by half. "No. There will be no bedding."

Bronn guffawed into his drink. "Shame. I'd have paid good money to watch that…"

"Quite aside from the fact that it is an outdated and archaic custom," Tyrion said shortly. "The king has expressly forbidden it…" He lowered his voice yet again, ensuring they would not be overheard, before he spoke: "Besides…I am led to believe that there is nothing for him in the bedchamber department anyway…"

"Actually, I strongly disagree!" Sam cut in-his rounded cheeks growing slightly pinker as he spoke. "It is rather discriminatory to say that, really-to suggest that there is only one way a person can…_you_ know!" He paused, tugging awkwardly at the collar of his robe. "There is something for everyone. I refuse to believe that there is nothing Robin could do for him-and vice versa!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake…" Bronn drawled, as Tyrion snorted into his cup. "_Please _don't put that image in my head…"

* * *

It was long past midnight, and the party showed no sign of slowing down. Indeed, as the wine flowed freely and the guests became drunker, it only promised to speed _up_. The musicians played tirelessly, the dancing was ever energetic (though imprecise), and the conversations grew louder and more raucous by the hour. His wife having left some time before, Bronn could be found in a corner, entertaining half a dozen pretty girls with songs and tales of his many travels and adventures around the kingdoms. A small crowd were playing some kind of drinking game, involving throwing coins into cups and downing the contents of whichever cup one's coin landed in, and it looked tremendous fun. Although darkness had fallen some time since, a thousand lanterns burned bright, casting the whole scene into a warm, comfortable glow. Truly, it had been a wedding to remember.

Robin had grown quite cold, sitting still in the night air, but he had drunk altogether too much wine to care. It was profoundly irritating to be so comfortably merry, and yet to sit beside someone who refused to touch a drop at his own wedding. Brandon's slice of wedding pie sat uneaten before him, his cup full. He merely stared straight ahead, seemingly in a world entirely his own.

It was a shame, truly, Robin thought, as his cup-bearer filled his glass once more. Aside from anything else, Brandon would probably be the most _hilarious_ drunk…

"I am tired." the king said, suddenly. Owl-like, he turned his head to face Robin. "I think I shall retire to bed."

"Oh." Robin answered with little interest-before a very different type of cold closed around his heart. Oh Gods. Bed. He hadn't even begun to consider the fact that weddings traditionally ended in…_oh Gods_…Would Brandon expect them to-_could_ he even-? "So…?"

Brandon said nothing. In less than an instant, Ser Podrick Payne had appeared behind him, pushing him down from the high table, without an inch of ceremony, and towards the interior of the Red Keep.

Knowing not what to do, and terrified of doing the wrong thing…Robin followed.

The walk up the stairs of the Red Keep to the royal apartments was among the longest of Robin's life. All the time he followed the king, his mind was racing. The silence of the corridors, after the deafening volume of the party, left a ringing in his ears. After everything, could Brandon really expect them now to suddenly _lie _together? It was unreasonable to the point of absurdity. He wouldn't._ Surely_ he wouldn't….and yet, he had not objected to Robin's presence as they drew closer and closer to the bedchambers…

Even if he did-even if they had to…Robin did not know _how_ he would. How could he bear to be intimate with a person he could not stand? He would have to close his eyes, and think of Stefan…oh, poor dear Stefan, far below…how he wished he was going to Stefan's bed instead! How he wished he could have married someone with warm eyes, warm arms, a warm heart…rather than the cold, loveless husband he was bound to.

Suddenly-Brandon came to a halt. With a start, Robin where they were. In all his panicked thinking, he had not realised how far they had come. They had reached the door of Robin's own bedchamber.

Brandon turned to face him. He regarded him for a moment with that icy glare…then, finally, he spoke:

"Goodnight, then."

Robin's heart had been hammering against his ribs-but, at this simple statement, he felt as though it had fallen right out. Relief flooded every part of him as, slowly, then all at once, he realised: "So-we will not-there will be no-?"

"Goodnight." Brandon repeated, a slightly edge to his tone. Behind him, Pod's eyes were fixed awkwardly upon the floor.

Robin stood still for a moment, in utter disbelief. Then-he nodded. "Yes. Very well. Goodnight, Your Grace." He made to open the door.

"There is no need for such formality between us now," Brandon said, tilting his head slightly to the left. "Please." He paused. "Call me Brandon." Once more, there was a short silence, before he added: "Or Bran."

_Bran_? Robin did not think he could bring himself to do such a thing. The thought of calling Brandon by his first name-a nickname, even-suddenly felt much more intimate than sex ever could. Still, he nodded once more, his hand firmly on the door handle. "Yes. Alright then. Goodnight…Brandon."

"Goodnight." Brandon watched as the door closed behind him. "…Robin."

As soon as Robin was through the doorway, he slammed it shut, and leaned against the wood, breathing hard, as if he had just ran a long distance. He felt…he could not describe how he felt…Oh Gods…was this his life now? A strained goodnight, then retiring alone, knowing that his cold, unfeeling husband slept alone only feet away? It was too much…Robin was prepared to cast himself down upon his pillows and have a good weep…

However-something was preventing him from doing so.

"…into a brothel with a honeycomb and a jackass, and-oh!" Lord Tyrion sprang to his feet to greet his prince. He was sitting at Robin's desk, a cup of wine in hand, talking to two figures on the end of the bed. "Here he is!" Tyrion's voice was slightly slurred with drunkenness. "The man of the hour. _Your Grace_…" He bowed low, smiling broadly.

"Lord Hand? What are you doing in my chamber?" Robin stammered, confused.

"Ah!" Tyrion pointed at Robin with his free hand, a sort of fierce pride in his eyes. "I thought you were exemplary today. Especially given the…" He gave a delicate pause. "…circumstances. And so…" He turned, and, with the air of a ring master, he presented the two figures on the bed. "I could never let a man go home to a cold bed on his wedding night."

"Your Grace!" Elliana ran forward, her dress scarcely covering a thing, and threw her well-practised arms around his neck.

"Your Grace!" Bastyn ran after her, wrapping his arms around Robin's waist and burying his head in his shoulder. "We've missed you so much!"

Robin was completely overwhelmed, caught in a heady mix of bodies and cheap perfume. Elliana and Bastyn? His favourite whores, all the way from Gulltown? _How…why_…? But Tyrion merely smiled, giving a discreet wink. He stuck a hand in his pocket, and pulled out a heavy purse of gold, which he then threw onto the bed. "Enjoy yourself while you can, lad. The real work starts tomorrow!"

And with that, whistling, he was gone.

"We've missed you so, so very much!" Bastyn was saying in his customary excitable way, planting kisses down his neck in the way that he knew Robin adored…in the way he _used_ to adore. "And now you're a prince!"

"Yes, Your Grace!" Elliana fingered the sapphire crown with great interest, giggling in her low, seductive tone, before beginning to try and find entrances to his clothes. "I've never been with_ royalty_ before!"

Robin stood for a while, utterly overcome-before, involuntarily he let out a sniff. All this attention, all this fawning over him-he would have relished it only a month ago. But now…that extreme emptiness filled him once more, and he felt tears battling to spill out from behind his eyes. Brandon's face swam into focus in his mind, cold and staring…it morphed into Stefan's face, warm and caring…_No_. He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

"Sorry-I-_please_-" Robin gabbled, holding up his hands. "Sorry, but-could you stop?"

At once, he was met by two pairs of very lustful, and totally bewildered eyes.

"Could you just…" Robin gulped hard, trying to swallow his tears. As he unwound himself from Bastyn and Elliana's hungry arms, he made his way over to the bed, and lay down upon it, fully clothed, and pushing his lips together in an attempt not to full-out cry. He curled up on his side, his knees tucked under his chin, and hugged his legs to his chest. Finally, miserably, he spoke:

"Could you just stroke my hair, please?"


	20. Your Grace

**Hello everyone! Thank you endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! It is so kind of you, and I really appreciate the effort it takes to do so. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy this! **

* * *

Robin was still growing used to his new title-but when he strode into the Small Council chamber for the first time, and every member got respectfully to their feet, he could not help but feel excited. In that moment, he felt more a prince than ever. Here he was-Prince of the Six Kingdoms, and Master of Alms.

"Your Grace." Ser Davos greeted him politely.

"Your Grace." Ser Bronn gave him a quick nod, though he did not quite meet his eye.

"Your Grace." Ser Brienne's voice was slightly heavy; evidently, the fate of Stefan weighed on her mind.

"Your Grace." Grand Maester Tarly smiled kindly at the new prince.

"Your Grace." Tyrion bowed his head-a secret glint in his eye. "I trust you slept well…after such a _tiring_ evening." He caught Bronn's gaze and grinned.

There was a slight jolt in Robin's stomach at this; he merely nodded curtly, and took his seat at the head of the table. It would not be wise to tell Tyrion that he had simply fallen asleep in Elliana's arms, resting his head in her lap as she gently combed his hair with her fingers…he clasped his hands awkwardly on his knees, staring straight ahead.

"Shall we begin?" Tyrion said, in a business-like manner. He sat down, as the rest of the Small Council followed suit. Unfurling a roll of parchment, on which an agenda was written, he started to speak. "The costs of the royal wedding were met by House Arryn, as promised. How many men can we expect from the Vale to bolster the royal standing army?"

Robin opened his mouth to speak-but before he could do so, Sam spoke for him.

"No less than two thousand men." he answered. Slowly, and feeling rather affronted, Robin closed his mouth.

"_Fewer_." Ser Davos muttered under his breath.

"Excellent," Tyrion said, not noticing Robin's discomfort. "And when can we expect them?"

"A fortnight." Sam confirmed, consulting a raven scroll in his hand. "Lady Alyssa has been most cooperative. She assures me that every man from the Vale is worth ten from anywhere else."

At this-Robin's interest was captured. "_Lady_ Alyssa?" His lips stretched into a big smile. "The king has legitimised her?"

Sam frowned-then shrugged. "She has been styling herself as "Lady" in her correspondence, so I assumed he must have…"

Despite himself, Robin could not help but feel delighted for his friend. To be legitimised was all she had ever wanted…he would have to write to congratulate her on-

"Actually, he _hasn't_." Tyrion said, suddenly. He reached over the table, and took the raven scroll from Sam. "_Lady Alyssa Royce_..." He raised both eyebrows, looking rather confused. "Her papers are still sitting unsigned on the king's desk. No matter what I may think of bastardy and its limitations, she legally remains Alyssa Stone."

Robin could hardly believe what he was hearing. How long ago had Royce requested Alyssa's legitimisation? It had been weeks and weeks…Why did Brandon continually refuse to give her the royal seal?

"Anyhow," Tyrion continued, casting the scroll aside-though there remained a troubled look in his eyes. "The Maidenvault is in dire need of refurbishment. It remains the only part of the Red Keep that has not been fully restored following the Dragon Queen's conquest. It's architecturally sound, but much of the beauty has been lost. Perhaps the Master of Coin can advise me as to whether we can expect the funds to carry this out."

"I'm sure we can scrape something together." said Bronn, nodding confidently.

"Hold on," Robin's voice rang out through the room. "If there are funds enough to restore the Maidenvault, why wasn't there anything to put towards repairs in the rest of the city?" He sat up straight, prepared to argue his point. "After the conquest, many of the smallfolk lost everything; their homes, their security, their way of life. Take a walk around Kings Landing, and you'll see that half the buildings are still rubble. They were blameless in the destruction of Kings Landing, and conditions in many parts of the city remain unfit for human habitation." He paused, letting his words sink in. "We can live without the Maidenvault for a few years. I am Prince Consort, and I will _not_ let my people continue to suffer."

The table was silent for a moment as Robin's voice echoed around the chamber.

"Well…" Tyrion looked rather shell-shocked. However, that wasn't to say he was unhappy with the outburst. Wearing an expression of upmost interest, he opened the discussion to the table: "Thoughts?"

"Ridiculous." said Bronn instantly. "No offence to the poor buggers, but why should _we_ pay for their losses?"

"It's a lovely idea, Your Grace." said Sam levelly, shooting Robin a small, sad smile. "And my heart wants to agree with you. But the Maidenvault is of such deep historical significance. It would be a disservice to history if we do not preserve it."

"But-" Robin began, ready to argue-but before he could speak, he was interrupted.

"Actually, I think His Grace has it absolutely bloody right," Ser Davos said suddenly. He looked straight at Robin, his arms folded across his chest. "I grew up in Flea Bottom, just down the road from where you're building that well. If the kids living there now get a better start in life than I did, then it's worth every single penny."

Robin breathed a sigh of relief, delighted simply to be supported. "_Thank you_, my lord." he said, meaning it. Davos merely nodded back, narrowing his eyes slightly-but Robin felt elated. "I simply do not think there is an argument to be made here. The Maidenvault will still be there in a year's time. Many of the poorest in our city do not have that long."

"The expenditure of the crown is not designed to cover-" Bronn started, looking rather surprised that Robin was able to debate this issue at all-before, suddenly, a low, monotone voice could be heard, emanating from the doorway:

"Robin is right."

Instantly-every member of the Small Council got to their feet, and greeted the visitor with a respectful "_Your Grace_." Slowly, pushed by Ser Podrick Payne, Brandon entered the chamber with all due ceremony. Robin started slightly as he realised that this was the first time he was seeing the king since their wedding. It was a most strange feeling. Somehow, Brandon looked even paler this morning; there were dark purple circles beneath his eyes, as if he had not slept the previous night. Robin thought it was rather apt that a man would look exhausted after his wedding night-only, there had not been a wedding night.

"Your Grace." Robin repeated, bobbing a small bow to his new husband, while temporarily forgetting their conversation about formalities the previous night.

Brandon did not return the greeting. He turned instantly to Lord Tyrion, his face set. "The prince speaks the truth. I will not have the crown's excess spent on aesthetics while our people go without." Then, in his owl-like fashion, he regarded Bronn. "I am certain the Master of Coin will see it done."

Bronn looked the opposite of pleased with this decision-however, he knew when he was beat. The king always had the final word. "With pleasure, Your Grace." he drawled, before taking his seat and beginning, reluctantly, to scribble down plans.

Robin felt a great rush inside him. He could not believe it-Brandon had just stood up for him in the face of the entire Small Council! He craned his neck to look at his husband, trying to catch his eye, to give him thanks-but Brandon did not so much as look at him as he prepared to leave. "As you were." the king said, raising a hand in lazy farewell to the room, before Pod wheeled him through the door. And then, like lightening striking in a storm, he was gone.

As he sat back in his chair, Robin's head spun. He simply could not fathom it. How could Brandon openly support him, pushing through his desires despite opposition-and yet, he could not say one word to him? Robin felt a strange warming sensation inside-but it was tainted with confusion. He loathed this treatment from his husband: cold, extended staring, or no eye contact whatsoever. It was completely incomprehensible. And yet…this time, Brandon had worked in his favour.

What was he _thinking_? Robin doubted he, or anyone else, would ever truly know…

However-hardly was the king a minute hence from the chamber, when the door burst open once again.

"Your Grace! My Lords!" came the urgent cry.

"This is a private meeting-" Tyrion began, getting to his feet-but the young squire who had charged in paid absolutely no mind to this. He was utterly red in the face, his chest rising and falling as he panted, his yellow hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. With huge, frightened eyes, he looked at the Small Council as if they were ghosts, risen from the grave. It was clear that the boy had just ran all the way there. And there was not a chance in the Seven Hells that he had come bearing good news.

"Whatever is the matter with you?" Tyrion asked him, looking more concerned by the moment.

It took a moment for the boy to find his tongue, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath. But when he did…he fixed those wild eyes straight on Robin.

"Your Grace!" he panted. "Flea Bottom!"

Cold fingers closed around Robin's heart. "What's happening?" he asked, dreading the answer. "What's going on?"

"…A-A _riot_!"


	21. Monkoen

**Hello! Thank you all endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! It is incredibly kind of you, and I really appreciate it. More tomorrow. I hope you enjoy this! xxx**

* * *

For the first few seconds, Robin couldn't move. Images flashed across his mind: Kayerts working on the well, the crowd cheering him after the wedding, little Alys grabbing onto his legs like a limpet and refusing to let go…a thousand questions swam into his mind-_What? How? Why?_

"A riot?" Tyrion stood up, his eyes very wide. "What do you mean, a riot?"

"Not sure the lad could have been any clearer." Bronn leaned forward, dropping his quill. "I bloody knew this would happen…" He shot a dark look at Robin-whose insides felt as though they had dropped right through the floor. "Flea Bottom can't be fixed with a couple of bags of gold and some water."

"What's going on?"

The squire leapt out of the way of the door, just in time for Podrick to throw it open, pushing Brandon back into the room. Although the king's expression had not changed-the tone of his voice was distinctly concerned.

"Well?"

"A riot, Your Grace." Samwell Tarly answered, looking extremely troubled. "In Flea Bottom."

Brandon did not look surprised. However, that air of discomfort grew thicker. "I see."

Robin was all but beside himself. The image of Alys' little face would not leave his mind's eye. If she, or any one of the other children, had been hurt-Robin did not know what he would do. The very thought of it set a horrible sickness churning in his belly, an unbearable pounding in his chest. Oh Gods. He couldn't bear it. In a single instant-he got to his feet. "I have to go down there!"

"No." said Brandon at once. His neck twisted so quickly to look at Robin, it was a wonder it did not snap. "You mustn't. It's far too dangerous."

"But-" Robin began to protest, his throat beginning to close up with worry.

"I forbid it." Brandon's voice rang through the chamber. There was a very odd look on his face as he fixed his eyes on his new husband. "I absolutely forbid it."

Robin felt a cold shiver rocket down his spine as he was caught in such an intense gaze. Ordinarily, he would never have taken kindly to being forbidden to do something-after all, he was Prince of the Six Kingdoms and Lord Paramount of the Vale. _No one_ gave him orders. But now, as he looked at his husband, the king, he knew that there was no room for disobedience. Brandon had such a strange look in his eyes…If Robin hadn't known better, he would have sworn that such fierce protectiveness was almost caring…

"His Grace is right," Tyrion was saying, nodding firmly. "It would be foolish to leave the Red Keep. The City Watch will quell it."

Brandon had not taken his eyes off of Robin, who was still agonising. Robin could almost have sworn there was the ghost of something on his face that may once have resembled pity. In any case, the next words out of his mouth were: "I'll take a look."

There was no way of knowing if Brandon had made such an offer on Robin's behalf, or whether he had been intending on doing so anyway. Robin was more than grateful for it-though, in the midst of his panic, he could not help but feel distinctly weird. Between his husband supporting him in the meeting before hand, and his actions since, one could almost believe that-

But Robin had no time to think upon it further-for Brandon's eyes had rolled into the back of his head.

One could never grow used to watching the king warg. Even those who had known Brandon for years averted their eyes as, without moving a muscle, he flew high above their heads. Likewise, Robin stared determinedly at the floor, unable to look at the haunting whites of his eyes, the partially open mouth…as if Brandon could have been any more uncomfortable to be around…

After about five minutes of deafening silence-Brandon returned with a small gasp.

"And?" Tyrion asked, taking a few steps towards him.

As he grew used to ordinary sight once more, Brandon turned to face his Hand. "It's not a riot. It's an assault." He paused. All around the room, eyes grew wide. "It's the landlord."

"An _assault_?" Tyrion gaped in disbelief.

"The landlord?" Sam frowned, confused.

"The landlord." Brandon confirmed, without looking at him. "A man named Lyonal. He presides over the slum. Since his tenants have had access to fair work and pay, it is more difficult for him to exploit them. They started to demand fairer rent too. And so…he has set his thugs upon the place." Suddenly-his eyes darted back to Robin. "The well has been destroyed."

Robin swallowed hard, physically shuddering. He felt as though a part of him had also been crushed to dust.

"Right…" Tyrion looked somewhat listless for a moment-before, snapping into experienced action. After all, he had faced much worse during his time in Meereen. "The City Watch should keep damages to a minimum. The obvious and most direct plan of action is-"

"Lyonal, did you say?" Robin's voice was an octave higher than usual. Suddenly, out of his shock an grief-there broke a terrible, burning rage. Filled with more anger than he had felt in a very long time, Robin clenched his shaking fists. "I want him found!" he shouted, flying head-first into his fury. "I want him brought to me! I will not rest until I make him fly through the Moon Door! Or-" He paused, running his hands furiously through his hair. "Or whatever the equivalent is here!"

Tyrion looked slightly put-out by this outburst-however, he gave a quick nod. "Well. Essentially yes." Then, he turned to Bronn. "My old friend. Do you still know this city's underworld as well as you used to?"

As soon as he spoke-Bronn's eyes rolled almost as far into his head as Brandon's had. "Oh no. You're not seriously asking me to-?"

"There is no one more efficient." Tyrion said firmly-though there was the hint of a plea in his voice. "You could find this man quicker than anyone in the Watch."

Bronn almost laughed at the cheek of it. "I'll never get done with you Lannisters, will I?" He gave a very reluctant sigh-before rising, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. "But it's about time I saw some action again. One does grow weary of desks and raven scrolls…" Unsheathing his sword, he looked straight at the king. "Give me two good men. I'll find the bastard."

"I have complete faith in you." Brandon said. Still, his gaze was fixed solely on Robin. "Take whomever you need. Go quickly."

And with that-the Master of Coin was gone.

Robin could not believe what had just happened. His head was spinning so violently he felt that he might either vomit or faint. Slowly, he tried to gather himself-before he looked straight back at his husband. "Did you know this was going to happen?" he gasped out.

Brandon did not provide an answer. However, he took a deep breath, before he spoke. "I'm sorry, Robin." he said, his voice monotonous. "I know this must be very difficult for you."

Although he spoke the right words, they were not accompanied by the right intonation, nor the right expression. Brandon may as well have been talking about the weather. It was almost impossible to feel comforted by them-as hard as Robin tried. It was good of him even to try-but the king was just so_ cold_. As Robin stood in the Small Council chamber, his work going up in flames as they spoke-all he wanted-all he _really_ wanted…was Stefan. Oh Gods. Warm, wonderful Stefan. What he wouldn't give to be in his arms right at that moment…

And so-Robin merely nodded, before casting his eyes downward once more. There was not an inch of relief to be found in those icy, loveless eyes. Oh, why had the gods seen fit to bind him to someone so unfeeling, so uncaring, so cold?

* * *

As Brandon looked at his husband, in such obvious agony-what was left of his heart broke clean apart. It was hell, pure hell, to see Robin so angry and upset over something beyond his control. How incredible his transformation had been; only a month ago, the new prince couldn't have cared less about the lives of the common people. But now, their pain physically hurt him too. Brandon could not help himself. It only made him love him more…There was a strange, tugging sensation in Brandon's chest. It was as if the final human part of him was trying to reach out, trying to reach out to Robin…Brandon almost could not contain it.

And yet-somehow, he could not let go.

Well. There was only one thing for it. Lyonal the slumlord-and anyone else, anyone in the world who hurt his Robin-would have to die. And he would not rest until they did.

"Grand Maester," Brandon said, tearing his eyes from his husband. From his seat, Samwell Tarly gave his full attention. "Prepare Monkoen's machine."


	22. The Execution

**Hello all! Thank you all so, so much for reading, and for fave-ing, following and reviewing! I really, really appreciate it. More tomorrow-things are about to kick up a notch! Hope you enjoy! xxx**

* * *

It hardly seemed possible that Flea Bottom could smell even worse-but somehow, it had outdone itself. Now, the smell of piss and shit was augmented threefold by the fact that some of it had burned.

Of course, it was not on the same scale as Daenerys Targaryen's conquest; entire streets did not burn, buildings were not liquidated, and the streets did not reek of peeled skin. However, even man-made fire had wreaked its destruction on the slum. Fire licked out of windows, burned straw to ashes, and sent clouds of black smoke high into the sky. All around it, glass had been smashed, property destroyed-and the streets were littered with broken teeth.

Lyonal's thugs had sacked the place, alright. And as for Robin's well…it sat in the middle of the square, entirely reduced to rubble.

Perhaps, without its new royal connection, the sack of Flea Bottom would have gone unnoticed by the crown. Just another scuffle in another slum, not worth dirtying one's hands over. However, now-the crown's justice could come down on the perpetrators' heads like so many burning bricks.

True to his promises, it had taken Bronn less than an afternoon to round up the assailants. No one knew the back streets of Kings Landing, nor the criminal underworld, better than he. Before night had fallen, they had been marched up to the Red Keep in chains, and thrown into the Black Cells. All there was left to do was try the men. And then-Robin would win his first victory for his people.

"Without the violence, obviously," Tyrion had been heard to remark, as he completed the paperwork for the sentencing. "one could almost call Lyonal's sacking a positive for the community. One less tyrannical landlord to exploit them, after all…"

This comment had earned a reproachful sideways glance from Samwell Tarly-but nonetheless, in just under a week, the trial was done, and King Brandon had sentenced Lyonal to a traitor's death.

When the day of the execution came-Robin rose in high spirits. He couldn't help but feel excited; the days where he had been allowed to throw men through the Moon Door had been among the best memories of his childhood. Of course, a beheading wasn't nearly as exciting, nor efficient, but he had never seen one before, and so ate his breakfast quivering with anticipation.

What's more-today marked the premier of mad Monkoen's death machine, which meant that there was a good chance that something would go wrong…that would be truly thrilling.

The execution was to be carried out outside the new Sept of Baelor. As he approached the platform, under heavily armed guard, Robin realised that had not been to the Sept since he was married. It was strange-to see this crowd of smallfolk standing before him, all eagerly awaiting the spectacle. These were the same people who had cheered for him…

Brandon was already on the platform, sitting quietly at the side, and looking pensively up at the sky. As he did every time he saw his new husband, Robin felt distinctly awkward. The king's presence was perpetually akin to a dark cloud in the sky. Still-nothing could dampen Robin's spirits today. As he stepped onto the platform, he could hear voices from the crowd calling his name: "_Prince Robin! Prince Robin_!" There was a pleasant lunge in his stomach as he remembered their reception on his wedding day. It would have been inappropriate to wave on such an occasion-but he smiled graciously to acknowledge their support. Then, he made his way over to stand in his place, beside his husband.

"Good morning." Robin forced himself to say, sounding extremely jovial.

"Yes. Good morning." Brandon did not look at him. His voice was distinctly irritable; but Robin was more than used to this treatment now. Bracing himself, he continued the conversation.

"I meant to thank you for this verdict. It means a lot to me."

Brandon looked rather uncomfortable at this declaration. He gave a stiff nod, before turning his eyes skyward once again. Robin hid a slight snort-_typical_. Why couldn't Brandon even try?

To distract himself, Robin looked up at Monkoen's machine. It stretched up high, perhaps fourteen or fifteen feet. The blade glistened with newness, as sharp as a dagger and positioned directly over the wooden stocks. Robin gave another shiver of excitement. He truly could not wait. It was all he could do not to jump up and down.

"You're very cheerful." Brandon commented suddenly. His gaze was more than penetrating.

"Well-yes!" Robin felt somewhat uneasy. The statement had sounded more like an accusation. "A bad man dies today. Why wouldn't I be cheerful?"

Brandon was quiet for a few moments. In his owl-like manner, his head twisted to face Monkoen's machine. Then, it shot back to Robin. "My father died here."

The intonation of his voice did not change in the slightest. However-the words were enough to send Robin crashing abruptly back down to earth. "Oh!" His heart caught a chill-and his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. "Er-sorry. I-I didn't know." He paused, searching desperately for something to say. "Ned Stark. He-he was a good man, I've heard?"

"He was." Brandon answered simply. His eyes had swivelled back to the sky.

"My-my father loved him!" Robin stammered anxiously. "Like his own!"

"I know." Brandon said. "I watched them once. My father…your father…Gendry's father…"

Robin never quite knew how to respond to words such as these. It was impossible to imagine being able to simply watch the past unfold before your eyes, as if it were happening right in front of you. He looked down at his husband, wondering exactly what it looked like inside that remarkable head of his…

"I hope they'd be happy." Robin blurted out, feeling more uneasy by the moment. "A-about us, I mean!"

Brandon looked strange. He turned back to Robin, a peculiar shine in his eyes. "Yes. I hope so too."

Robin did not know what to do. For a moment…he felt more connected to his husband than ever before. Were it anyone else, he would have…_oh, sod it_. He reached out, and placed his hand gently on Brandon's shoulder.

Brandon's throat bobbed up and down at the contact. He looked at Robin's hand as if it did not belong to him; as if he simply fallen out of the sky, and landed on him. His shoulder felt unfamiliar under Robin's hand-and bony too. In that fashion, they stood for a few seconds, together on the scaffold, perfectly still.

After a few seconds, which felt like years-Brandon raised his hand. Slowly, so slowly, he reached up, towards his shoulder, and made to take-

Suddenly-there was such a terrific roar from the crowd that Robin jumped out of his skin. His hand dropped from Brandon's shoulder, and the moment ended as quickly as it had begun. This was the moment. This was it. The condemned man had walked onto the scaffold.

Lyonal wore nothing but a shirt as he shuffled out, holding his head high against the heckles and hollers of the crowd. He had been shorter than Robin had expected, a head smaller than he was-but he was broad, and built like a brick wall. There was not a single hair upon his head, and he had hugely bushy black eyebrows. There was a certain sneer about his lips that told one instantly what sort of man he was. The very side of him made Robin's insides bubble with hate.

There was no hanging around, no speeches, no nothing. Perhaps Lyonal wasn't that sort of man. Anyway-he was led immediately to Monkoen's machine by the new King's Justice, who wore a black hood to disguise his features. Robin felt a biting excitement inside. Once more, he had to fight hard to keep from bouncing up and down, like he used to whenever a man was about to fly. However, today, only the head would fly…but never had there been a beheading quite like this before.

Robin watched, enraptured, and filled with righteous wrath, as Lyonal was secured in the stocks. Only his neck was trapped-and held perfectly steady. The prince could see his lips moving-perhaps in a last, fruitless prayer.

A few seconds later-the King's Justice pulled the rope.

Robin held his breath as the blade fell.

Then, in one fell swoop-

In a swish of metal, and a spurt of blood-Lyonal's head fell into the waiting basket.

Brandon let out a small, almost inaudiable gasp. Still, his expression was blank, and he made no other sign of grief-but his eyes were very wide. Reflected in them, one could almost see the ghost of Eddard Stark's execution, playing out before him.

It was perfect. The machine was perfect, the execution was perfect-the man Robin loathed was dead. And yet, as the crowd roared its approval, all Robin could do was look down at his husband with pity. In his heart, there was a horrible, hollow sinking feeling.

It was terrible, and Robin knew it-but this was the first time he had seen any sort of emotional reaction from Brandon at all.


	23. The Banishment

**Hello all! Thank you so much for reading, and for following, fave-ing, and reviewing! It honestly means the world, and I hope you continue to enjoy this! More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

Perhaps Robin had known that this day was coming. The moment he had risen for breakfast, there had been an unusual atmosphere about the Keep. No one could quite meet his eye, and when they did regard him, it was with a certain mixture of pity-and secrecy. As if there was a terrible secret that no one wanted to tell him.

Before Robin even made his way into the throne room, he had nursed a profound hunch for some time. There was only one logical explanation for all this reluctance and silence. Only one reason why the entire castle suddenly seemed to know something he didn't. Finally, at long last, the moment had come for him to face the painful truth he had been suppressing all these weeks. That jagged rock edge inside his heart felt more pronounced than ever as he took his place at the head of the hall, at the king's side.

"You don't have to do this."

Without so much as a "Good morning", his husband had already confirmed his worst fear. Instantly, Robin's belly filled with horrible, squirming snakes once again. He felt distinctly sick as he looked at the door on the far end of the room, knowing full well who was going to appear through it at any moment.

"I do." he replied quietly. There was no keeping the quiver of emotion from his tone. "I have to."

Brandon did not respond to this-but, ever so slightly, his thin shoulders clenched.

When the far doors did finally fall open, and the prisoner Robin had been expecting was marched through them-there was no describing his response. At once, his heart leapt into his throat-and broke into pieces inside his chest. A pain like little else he had known filled him as he looked down upon the freckled face that had found its way so readily into his soul.

Ser Stefan looked like shit. There was no other way to put it. His long red hair hung around his shoulders in visible tangles. His handsome face was shrouded by dirt, and his eyes were surrounded with enormous purple bags. There was no hint of that charming smile playing around his mouth, no sign of the dimples on his cheeks that Robin had kissed. If nothing else could be said of Ser Stefan's appearance, it was testament to the efficiency of the Black Cells. The young knight was, undoubtedly, a broken man.

Led by two burly guards, Stefan was brought before the king. Immediately, he sunk into what must have been intended as a respectful bow; however, the look in his eyes said it all. They were devoid of their customary warmth. All that remained in them, as he looked at the person who had married his flame, was hate.

Robin felt that he could cry. He looked down at Stefan, whom he had adored, who had adored him-and felt every one of those feelings come rushing back in earnest. Oh Stefan-the man who had looked after him when he had been deserted in this strange and filthy city, who had held him close and rocked him when he cried, who had touched and kissed him with such gentleness, such affection, such devotion…The overriding sensation Robin was experiencing was guilt. Oh Gods. Why had Stefan been made to suffer so for a crime they had both committed?

Brandon seemed unaffected by Stefan's attitude-but, then again, he was unaffected by most things. Anxiously, Robin watched his husband, wondering what on earth was yet to come. Brandon had promised not to execute the man…but what was to become of him instead?

"Your Grace." Ser Stefan's voice was scratchy and dry-but it perfectly portrayed purest loathing. He stole a glance at Robin-which struck him to the very core. But when he turned to Robin…his tone softened into a whisper-a lover's whisper. "_Your Grace_…"

Robin swallowed hard.

"Ser Stefan." Brandon returned, with neither warmth nor coolness. "I hope this morning finds you well."

Robin stared in disbelief at his husband. Had he intended that statement to be so cruel? Certainly, Stefan had taken it that way.

"I have been far, far better, Your Grace." he spat. Once more, he looked up at Robin, his eyes softening from wrath to grief. Robin had to hold his breath to keep the tears welling behind his eyes from falling.

"I am sorry to hear that." Brandon replied, without emotion. Still, Robin could not help but wonder whether he was deliberately torturing the boy.

There was a short silence.

"So what is to become of me?" Ser Stefan's voice was quiet-and yet, very dangerous. This was the voice of a man with nothing more to lose. "Back to the cells? To the Night's Watch? To the scaffold?"

Robin's heart thumped so furiously that it was a wonder it could not be seen through his clothes.

"No." said the king. "None of those." He reached into the pocket of his cloak, and produced a raven scroll, which he duly unfurled. "I have here correspondence from your liege lord, Edmure Tully of Riverrun."

At this-Stefan's eyes snapped up.

"My uncle writes of his astonishment that such a worthy young knight would waste his potential in this way," Brandon explained, perfectly monotonous. "That the foolish mistakes of youth should not define the life of a man. He argues that you have been punished enough. And so, he asks me to send you back to the Riverlands, where you may serve once more as Lord Tully's bannerman, and attend him to the fullest of your capabilities."

Ser Stefan did not say a word-but Robin could tell, from the movement of his shoulders, that his breathing had just doubled in rate.

"I wish to grant my uncle's request." Brandon continued. "You will return to your ancestral homeland. You will serve my uncle. And…" He paused. "You are banished from Kings Landing for as long as you live. If you ever set foot inside the city limits…you will never see the light of day again."

Robin covered the huge sigh of relief he had been holding in with his hand, trying not to give any physical sign-though his hands were shaking. He could not help himself-Stefan, allowed to return home? It was better than he could possibly have hoped for.

Expecting nothing but elation, Robin turned to look at the freed prisoner, his eyes shining…and yet-in Stefan's face, there was nothing celebratory to be found.

He stared up at the king for a long moment…then, he looked at Robin.

"May I speak freely, Your Grace?"

As if he already regretted this decision-Brandon nodded.

Eyes fixed firmly on Robin, Stefan opened his mouth.

"I have sat alone in darkness for weeks now…" he murmured-and yet, his voice carried all the way to the rafters. "I sat in the pitch black with nothing but my own head. And I thought, and I thought, and I _thought."_

Robin's breath had become very short.

"…And the more I thought…" the knight continued. "The more certain I became."

By his side, Brandon was beginning to look most troubled. He opened his mouth, as if to protest-but Stefan was too fast.

"Your Grace," Stefan declared, his eyes as wide as a madman's. "If you send me away from the capitol…If you-" he stammered. "If you send me away from _Robin_…You have as good as killed me."

Instantly, the tears Robin had been so fiercely suppressing were liberated with a vengeance. Oh Gods. _No. No. No_. "Stefan-" he began, holding up his hands. "_Please_-"

"Robin-" Stefan took a step towards him-and was instantly restrained by his guards. "_Darling_-please-listen to me!"

"You don't mean it!" Robin cried out, turning paler by the second. "It's-it's the cell! All that time on your own! You're-You're not thinking straight-!"

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life!" Stefan's voice rose almost to a shout as he struggled against his guards. The whites of his eyes stood out alarmingly from his grubby face. "I don't care! I have nothing left but you! _Robin_-I don't care that our king has forced you to marry him! I care about _you_-and nothing else but you! I care about how miserable you are! And I care that _he_ will never love you like I do!"

Stefan's voice echoed around the throne room, as if an entire chorus sung out his words over and over again. Robin's heart felt as though it were being squeezed in a vice. "No!" he whimpered, growing more fearful by the second.

"That's right!" Stefan yelled, desperately diving forward once again. He was putting up one hell of a fight against the guards, who barely held onto him. "I love you, Robin! I love you, I love you, I love you!"

All at once-Robin was torn in two. Half of him melted to hear such words spoken by the one he so adored…but the other half, the larger half-was completely appalled-and terrified out of his wits.

"_Darling_-" Stefan hissed, as the guards attempted to drag him away. He did not break Robin's gaze for a single instant. "Come with me. Leave this place behind, forever, and come with me. _I love you_. I swear I'll protect you, and care for you. I'll look after you, always. Come with me, and be my love! _Please,_ Robin!_ Robin_!"

Robin couldn't bear to watch this pitiful display. As Stefan was bodily hauled towards the doors, he buried his face in his hands, and began to sob.

All the while, Brandon had not spoken a single word. He had merely watched the harrowing display before him as if it were no more interesting than the weather. Still, as he witnessed the disgraced knight's dreadful exit, he sat pensively, lost entirely in thought.

Robin was afforded no such luxury as detachment. He could cover his eyes, blur his vision with tears-but he could not stop the hammering of his heart-and he could not stop his ears from hearing:

"_Robin! I love you! I love you!_"


	24. A Lantern

**Hello all! My sincerest apologies for not posting yesterday! I was unexpectedly incredibly busy. I can normally find the time to sit down and write, but yesterday, it was just impossible. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and there will definitely be a post tomorrow. **

**As always, thank you endlessly for reading, and for following, fave-ing, and reviewing! I am eternally bowled over by your kind words, and appreciate them more than I can say. You're the best xxx**

**SPOILER: It's not over yet...**

* * *

There was nothing especially particular about that evening; there was no occasion, and no reason that anything unusual should happen. However, at the same time, it was most noteworthy. The reason being: the evening after Stefan's banishment marked the first time Brandon and Robin would take dinner together. In the privacy of the royal apartments, the king and his new husband sat and dined alone.

Of course, they weren't truly alone-a squire appeared at regular intervals with plates and wine, and members of the kingsguard stood by outside the door, but as they took courses of meat, cheese, and fruit, Robin could not help but feel that this was the first time, without there being a state occasion, they had spent time together. And so, as they ate largely in silence, Robin found himself drinking wine with rather more purpose than he ordinarily would. What was it about the capitol that made him constantly crave the comfort of drunkenness?

"I have spent the afternoon drawing up plans with Grand Maester Tarly, regarding the reconstruction of the areas damaged in the attack, and the rebuilding of the well." he gabbled, desperate to fill the emptiness.

Brandon had been staring rather disconcertingly at the wall above Robin's head-but his eyes snapped down at the sound of his voice. "Yes." he agreed, sounding distracted. "Very good."

There was an extended pause. Slowly, Robin set down his fork, and took up his wine cup once more. "I am only grateful to the gods that loss of life was minimal."

Without further comment, Brandon gave a stiff nod of acknowledgement.

Silence.

It wasn't so much that the king frightened him anymore; Robin grew more used to his strange ways every day. He tried hard to be understanding, but sometimes, it became difficult. Some days, he couldn't help but wonder whether it wasn't so much being the Three Eyed Raven that prevented Brandon from partaking in basic social graces, as the fact that he simply couldn't be bothered. Didn't think Robin was worth the trouble. Whatever.

Robin took another long drink, staring at his husband over the rim of the glass. It was dreadful, of course it was-but he could not help but think of Stefan. _Poor_ Stefan. Robin's heart still felt as though it had shattered to painful shards in his chest. The image of the young knight being dragged, filthy and broken, from the throne room, all the while proclaiming his love and devotion…it haunted him. It was sickening to think that the broken man had been the same person who had so valiantly won the joust at the Falcon's Tourney, who had flirted so charmingly and smiled so warmly. They wore the same face, and spoke with the same voice…but they simply could not be the same. Robin's brain could not reconcile the two at all.

Of course, he couldn't have meant any of it. It was those cells, those horrible Black Cells. Spending weeks all alone in pitch black must be enough to break even the steadiest of nerves. They were as bad as the Sky Cells back at the Eyrie, or worse…Robin's belly churned uncomfortably.

"Your Grace?"

Once more, Brandon's eyes fell upon his husband. "I told you," he said, his voice utterly without intonation. "You needn't call me that-not when we are alone. We're…" He paused. "_married _now. There needn't be such formality between us."

Once more, Robin found it difficult to twist his tongue into the correct shape to address the king by name. "Brandon," he began instead. "I…wanted to thank you for showing mercy to Stef-I mean, _Ser _Stefan." he added, with careful detachment. "You did so at my behest, and I am grateful."

He would have been foolish to expect anything more than a slight nod from the king, and he was not disappointed. The moment it had been received, Robin went back to his wine cup. However, all of a sudden-Brandon spoke.

"Did you think of going with him?"

Robin was more than slightly taken aback at this abrupt line of questioning. "_What_?" he exclaimed, arranging his face into something he hoped looked shocked and appalled. "No! Of course not!" He lied. "I am loyal to my husband, and would _never_-!"

But Brandon held up a hand to stop his mouth.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did think of it. Even for a second."

At this-Robin felt his cheeks turn a delicate shade of rose.

"Once more, Ser Stefan proved himself a poet. I understand that it is easy to be taken in by such declarations." He gave Robin a very penetrating look. "Are you miserable here?"

"No!" Robin protested at once. "I-"

"Again, I wouldn't blame you," Brandon continued smoothly. He did not break eye contact for a moment. "I don't think there is a person in this entire Keep that is here truly by choice. Not one person who, given the opportunity, wouldn't rather be somewhere else." He paused. "Lord Tyrion, certainly. Yourself…probably. _Myself_…definitely."

Robin was somewhat surprised by these sentiments. He had not considered how Brandon really felt about having a kingdom he was not born to thrust upon him. Gazing at his new husband for a moment, he could not help but think upon what exactly had transpired to lead him there…from what he knew, it had been a journey like no other…

"And that is exactly why we must remain here." Brandon finished, with resolution. "It is difficult…but we must cope."

After a few seconds, Robin bit his lip. He wondered if he dared… "I never asked you…" he started, cautiously. Perhaps it was better to begin with a specific. "At the Battle of Winterfell….You looked into the eyes of the Night King…What was he like?"

Brandon was quiet for a moment. Then-his eyes turned cold. All at once, he uttered a single word: "Death."

Robin felt a frosty shiver run up and down his spine. "I-I'm sorry." he stammered. "I-I should never have asked. It must be awful for you to remember."

Brandon did not look especially traumatised. "I remember quite a lot these days. Though, I must say, it is a moment that stands out."

"You must have been so scared." Robin murmured, his eyes very wide.

The king did not react immediately, as he considered Robin's words. Then, he tilted his head very slightly to the side. "I wasn't afraid. Not really." he mumbled, a strange, faraway look about him. "Not for myself. But…" He swallowed hard. "When I think about what would have happened if we couldn't defeat the Others…If they'd have gone south…if they'd have reached the rest of the world…"

Robin waited, hardly breathing. "Oh Brandon…" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "It must have been so horrible…so terrifying…"

Once more, Brandon looked rather unconcerned. "As I said-I wasn't afraid. But I was afraid for the realm. For humanity." He looked straight at Robin-who felt as if the king was gazing right into his soul. "Sometimes, I do think of the Night King. I think of his army flattening the North, then the Riverlands, and then rounding upon…the Vale." His eyes grew very intense. "I think of what would have happened if they had reached the Eyrie." A pause. "If they'd have reached you."

Robin felt the chill inside him grow unbearable.

"They couldn't have!" he said, instantly, finding that his voice quivered in his throat. "They could never have reached me! The Eyrie is impregnable!"

"You never saw Them." Brandon replied slowly. "You never saw the army of the dead. No fortress in the world could have stopped them…" Once more, he held Robin's gaze. "And when I think of them reaching you…" He looked as if the words physically pained him to speak. "My heart turns to ice."

Robin did not know how to respond. He looked at the king, the king who was so cold, so unfeeling, who showed him not the slightest measure of affection…and yet, here he was, openly fearing for Robin's life. A feeling Robin could not explained coursed through his veins as he looked into those empty, staring eyes, so at odds with the words he had spoken…he simply did not know what to make of it.

"Brandon…" he asked again, the name tripping more easily from his tongue than it ever had before. What could he say? What could he say that could possibly summarise a feeling he did not understand? Instead, he simply looked into those strange, dark eyes, and asked: "When you stare, and you stare, and you stare…What do you see?"

Brandon did not speak immediately. But when he did-it was without cruelty, without stiffness, and without reserve. It was not especially _with_ anything either, but Robin could not help but feel the slightest bit warmer when he heard his words. It was as if he was sitting in a frozen forest at midnight-but he was beside the tiniest, glowing lantern.

"I see you."


	25. The Kingsroad Again

**Hello! Sorry to have posted so late. I hope you enjoy this anyway!**

**Thank you endlessly as always for reading, and for fave-ing, following, and reviewing! I am overwhelmed with your kind words. They are so appreciated. More tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

Stefan was more than broken. He was ripped to shreds.

One could have been forgiven for thinking that it was his horse, and not the knight himself, who was in control; Stefan scarcely paid any mind to the road beneath its hooves, nor the way ahead. He held the reins loosely in his hands, staring straight ahead without seeing. Perhaps his eyes had simply not grown used to daylight yet, after so long in the dark. Nonetheless, Stefan meandered up the Kingsroad, headed due North.

It would be good to see Riverrun again. He tried to comfort himself with the thought of the familiar landscapes, the endless rivers, the promise of spending lazy afternoons fishing once again on the same banks he had reclined upon since boyhood. And yet…he knew that now, nothing could ever be quite the same again.

Although he was more than grateful to Edmure Tully for pleading his case-he was not looking forward to facing his lord in person. He hated to think what thoughts would fill those eyes when he looked at the disgraced knight, what condemnations, what judgement...Edmure knew about him, all about everything that had happened in the capitol…everything that had happened with Robin.

_Robin_.

Stefan urged his horse faster, closing his eyes as the wind beat him. He kicked hard until the creature reluctantly fell into a gallop. As he pounded northwards, it was as if he was trying to outrun his own thoughts.

And yet-how could he? How could he ever run from his last memory of his beloved prince? Watching Robin looking down at him from beside the king with such sadness in his eyes, seeing him sob as Stefan had been forced from the room…it was too much to bear.

Stefan was not the same man who was the champion of the Falcon's Tourney. Whether it was Robin, or the capitol, or the Black Cells, he did not know. One thing was certain, however. He could never simply return to Riverrun and pick up where he had left off. As if nothing had happened. As if everything was still the same…when it could not be more different.

_Robin. _

The prospect of never seeing him again was one far blacker than the blackest night in the dungeons.

He could not. He _would_ not.

All at once-Stefan pulled his horse to a halt. As hooves scattered on the road, his mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts.

His heart screamed to return to the capitol, to go into hiding, to change his name and cut his hair, to live any way he could, just to be near Robin. And yet, he knew that this was impossible. So what to do?

Not to Riverrun and Edmure Tully.

Not south either.

So where?

Suddenly, like a dream-it fell upon him all at once.

Where was the one other place in the world he could feel close to Robin? Where was the one other place in the world that he was likely to return to? Even if it took months, years, decades-Stefan would wait for him in the one place he called home.

Due north-west, Stefan pushed his horse into a gallop once more. He vowed that he would not rest, would not tire, would not cease, until he saw the Bloody Gate…

* * *

The next few days passed by Robin in a haze of activity. He spent every waking hour at work, ensuring that his plans to improve Flea Bottom would not fall to ruin in the wake of the attack. The well was being rebuilt, and soon, clean water would be available to the entire population. The thought of little Alys and the rest of the orphans finally having access to safe water was more than glorious. Indeed, he did not think even watching men fly through the Moon Door could bring him as much pleasure…

And yet…in the royal apartments of the Red Keep, there had been a subtle, but absolute, change.

Robin had believed with all his heart that his husband, the king, did not care for him. He had spent every day since their betrothal trying to figure out how he was going to survive with such a cold, unfeeling husband, for the rest of his life. But now…the bleakness and uncertainty had been replaced with another feeling altogether. And that feeling was…confusion.

Brandon's words to him during their private dinner had kept him up late every night, tossing and turning alone in bed, and wondering what on earth he should make of them. What on earth did they mean? Was it that, after all, Brandon had grown to care for him? Or was Brandon simply performing his duty? Perhaps some member of the small council-Lord Tyrion, or Samwell Tarly, most likely-had been feeding him the words to say. After all, having observed Brandon's behaviour towards him since they had first met, it seemed impossible that the king would have such an abrupt change of heart…and yet, perhaps, there was the smallest chance that it was not the case at all…

Robin did not know what to think. And he certainly did not see enough of his husband in everyday life at the Red Keep to ask him. Even if he did…what could he say?

There was no way of knowing.

And, in any case…what did this mean for their marriage? Robin remembered the day of their wedding-Brandon had scarcely spoken to him for the entire event. The only contact they had shared was the joining of their hands together with the traditional ribbon…and the kiss.

The kiss that carried no legal or religious weight. The kiss that the spectators had expected, sure-but the kiss that was by no means a necessity in the validation of the marriage. The kiss, on the other hand, that could have been left out altogether. The kiss that Brandon had initiated.

Robin closed his eyes. He couldn't afford to keep analysing Brandon's every movement; it simply wasn't healthy. After all, without a kiss to close the ceremony, people may easily have talked. The king's motivation could have lain solely in that-in playing the part. After all, was not that all a politically advantageous marriage was about? Playing the part? Rhaegar Targaryen had not loved his princess. Robert Baratheon had not loved his queen. Robb Stark _had_ loved his queen…and look where that got both of them. Love and politics simply did not mix. One simply showed up at the Sept when one was told, and married the person their father had chosen for them.

Only no father had chosen Robin. Neither of them had a father any longer.

_Brandon_ had chosen Robin.

This thought came to Robin in the dead of night, as he lay awake staring at the canopy above his bed-and it rendered him utterly sleepless. Could it be that the king who had been nothing but cold, who had treated him almost with distain, who neither touched him, nor kissed him, nor lay in bed beside him…had grown to care for him after all?

That was all Robin wanted. To be cared for.

Oh, but what of _Stefan_? Robin turned over, hugging his knees to his chest. He could not quite bring himself to forget the feeling of his arms around him, his lips on his…The poor boy who had suffered so greatly in the Black Cells, and had come out publicly declaring his love for him. Was it even possible, after so precious few hours together, that he _could _love him? In the true sense of the word. All the songs, all the poems, would have him believe so-the gallant knight falling desperately in love at first sight with a person above his station. That was Stefan, all over. But was there any truth to it?

Was love the fiery passion of a moment, a loud, booming declaration, a swear on one's life and honour? Or…could it be something altogether slower, softer, and quieter? Something like…

"_The prince speaks the truth…You mustn't. It's far too dangerous. I forbid it…Yes. I hope so too…You don't have to do this…My heart turns to ice…I see you…" _

* * *

Robin woke rather early from his fitful sleep. However, as the sun streamed in through the window, he felt wide awake. As quickly as he could, he dressed, pulling on his clothes, his boots, throwing his cloak over his shoulder. He even found himself humming:

"_High in the halls of the kings who are gone _

_Jenny would dance with her ghosts_…"

He stepped out into the corridor, feeling, for the first time, as if the Red Keep was truly his home. There was so much to do! Perhaps he would pay a visit to Flea Bottom, to see how everything was moving along…he could even stop at the orphanage…

At that moment-he heard the sound of wheels on the stone floor behind him, accompanied by familiar loud footsteps. Knowing what he would see even before he turned, Robin found Ser Podrick, and Brandon, up bright and early, as was his custom.

"Good morning, Robin." the king greeted him, with habitual cold politeness. He looked slightly surprised to see him up at this hour-although, Robin rather thought, he did not look disappointed. Robin looked at his husband for a moment, considering all that he was, and all that he had done. Then, softly, and slowly…he smiled.

"Good morning…Bran."


	26. Searching

**Hello! Thank you all endlessly for reading, and for fave-ing, following, and reviewing! It is incredibly kind, and I am continuously humbled. Honestly, I have had one hell of a week for all sorts of reasons, and it is simply wonderful to come here and write for a while every day. Thank you all so much. More tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

Robin had found himself at a loose end that afternoon. He had enjoyed a busy morning, sitting on the Small Council and making adjustments to plans. Grand Maester Tarly had suggested that the city's new clean water system was altogether too close to the sewers to properly avoid cross contamination. His research into the quality of drinking water had already had a noticeable effect on public health. To everyone's surprise, cases of the dreaded cholera had declined immeasurably. It seemed that clean water truly was essential in the fight against outbreaks of disease…

But Robin did not wish to think on sewers and cholera. As he climbed up the spiral stone staircase inside a turret of the Red Keep, and out onto the battlements, he hoped that his hunch was correct.

Sure enough…he was right.

There he was, as clear as day. Dressed all in black and perfectly alone, his chair facing out to sea. The king. Robin swallowed hard. Then, gathering all his courage, he made himself begin walking towards him.

"Hello, Robin." said Brandon as he neared him, without so much as turning around. There was an uncomfortable swoop in Robin's stomach; one could never be quite certain what Brandon knew and what he didn't. Nonetheless, there was something about that odd, faraway look in his eyes, that cold, harsh stare, that was becoming almost endearing. Robin smiled to himself. He believed he was finally starting to grow used to his bizarre husband, and his funny, inhuman ways…

"Hello," He paused as he drew beside him, turning to look out to sea as well. "I thought I'd find you here."

"Well, you have." Brandon remarked flatly. It was a tone that Robin would have found cold and forbidding when first they had met. But now, it felt almost friendly. Oh Brandon. He was predictable, if nothing else.

"How are you today?" Robin asked him, undeterred.

Brandon paused. "Well, I suppose. I have been to Essos."

Robin tried not to show how taken aback he was by that statement. Of course, Brandon was not referring to physical travel, in corporal space or time. It was growing easier, however, to simply take such things in his stride. It was all a part of being married to the king-_this_ king, in particular. "Oh. Well. I hope you found what you were looking for."

"Not yet." Brandon answered quietly. His eyes flickered to a crow, sitting on the crenulation of the turret Robin had just climbed out of. "I think I shall try again…"

The curiosity was almost killing him. "Bran? What _is_ it you spend all this time up here searching for?"

Brandon turned his head slightly, so that he met Robin's eye. He was silent for a moment, before he spoke. "An old friend." was all he would say.

In spite of himself, Robin found himself smiling again. Brandon was always so cryptic. It was hilarious really; was this truly how his mind worked, or did he simply enjoy being surrounded by mystery? Either way, it was sort of sweet, and Robin was more than prepared to indulge him. "Alright then. It was nice to see you, anyway. I'll leave you to it."

"Goodbye, Robin." said the king. Of course, it did not reach his cold, lifeless eyes-but there was something playing around his lips that might once have been the ghost of a smile in return.

Robin could stand it no longer. With a strange little laugh he did not know was in him, he bent down-and threw his arms around him.

The embrace was stiff and uncomfortable-likely due to the fact that it was unrequited for some time. But Robin held fast, closing his eyes. And, after a while…he felt a single, unfamiliar hand come to rest between his shoulder blades. A shiver coursed through his entire body as he realised that Brandon, in his own strange, awkward way, was hugging him back.

* * *

Brandon did not have the words to describe how he felt. As Robin squeezed him, it occurred to him that he had not been held-properly held-since Jon at Winterfell. He felt a strange, tingling sensation inside him. Perhaps he had been wrong when he had considered physical contact the occupation of mortals, a ritual of personal affection that he needed no part of. Perhaps…perhaps he was not as removed from his more human needs than he had thought. Or…perhaps it was simply because it was his Robin.

In any case, it was glorious to be held once more. And so…sincerely, and without reservation, he held on.

* * *

It was not clear who finally ended the embrace-but Robin had a feeling that it hadn't been Brandon. As he pulled away, he couldn't help but smile. "I'm so happy I came up here!"

Brandon said nothing-but he nodded. And, as Robin got to know him better and better, he knew that such a response was more than enough. Slowly, he was beginning to understand his husband-and a sort of warmth filled him from the inside out.

"I know it's been difficult." he said, taking Brandon's hands in his. "But I think we're going to be alright."

Brandon narrowed his eyes slightly, inclining his head towards his husband in a gesture that, in anyone else, would have been kind. He gazed up at Robin for a moment, his fingers tightening a fraction around his. "Of course we are."

There was no doubt that he was telling the truth. Robin doubted the king was capable of a lie. He looked down at their clasped hands, enjoying the contact more than he could possibly say. It was so good, so good to be touched…He could not help but think of the way he had constantly sought out contact through his life. Perhaps it had been a learned behaviour from his mother, who had seemed to consider any moment she wasn't cuddling him a moment wasted. But after she had died, Robin had found himself seeking it in other places; from Alyssa, from Bastyn and Elliana in Gulltown, from Stefan…he simply had that need, that real need to be touched and held.

But the way Brandon held his hands, the way he had hugged him…it had been awkward and strange, sure…but there was something about it nonetheless. Something…something entirely unselfish. There was nothing warm, nothing fierce about it…but there was a certain gentleness Robin had never known. And he could not help but hold on.

After a moment of comfortable silence-the king finally pressed his lips together. "I ought to get back to-"

"Oh-" Robin nodded, taking a step back. "Yes."

"Yes…" Brandon agreed. Carefully, Robin began to let his husband's hands slip from his, preparing to make his way back inside-

But, all of a sudden-Brandon held on, fast.

"Perhaps we can have dinner tonight?"

It was an offer given in the exact same tone of voice he had used earlier that day in the Small Council chamber when they had been discussing the city's sewage system. However, Robin felt a little bubble of happiness inside him beginning to grow. It reached his face, which he found, without his specific instruction, had begun to flat-out beam.

"Yes. That would be _lovely_."

* * *

_Father, _

_I don't understand why you fight me so profusely at every turn. Is this not what we want-what we have always wanted? I know your old loyalties die hard, but you must concentrate upon the future. The future of our house. _

_Well. I am moving forward. With, or without you. I assure you, I am perfectly used to working alone. When you decide where your loyalties lie-with Jon Arryn, or with your own family-I will joyfully await your raven. _

_You must choose. _

_Your daughter, _

_Alyssa _


	27. The Broken Knight

**Hello all! So sorry this was posted at such an unsociable hour. I'll try and do better tomorrow! **

**I know I say this every day, but I honestly couldn't be more grateful to you for reading this. I hope you are still enjoying it. Very exciting things to come! Special thanks to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed-I appreciate the time it takes to do so very much. Anyway, I won't keep you any longer! Enjoy! xxx**

* * *

_The Eyrie_

* * *

After so much riding, Stefan's legs felt rather light and odd as he walked into the High Hall. He kept his aching head bowed low, so he did not see the moon-strewn ceiling, nor the winding staircases, nor the beautiful stone arches that framed the room. All he saw was the stone floor beneath his feet…and, as he walked farther and farther forward…he could see the stone warping into a circular pattern, surrounding the round, gaping maw in the middle of the room...a few more paces, and he could feel the wind whipping unnaturally up from below…

This was it. Robin's Moon Door. He shivered as he remembered…

Then, like trumpets-a voice from above cut into his thoughts.

"Who is this broken man, skulking into my Hall?"

Stefan forced himself to look up. There, set on high, was the beautifully strange, twisting weirwood throne. But there was no beautiful, dark-haired prince sitting upon it. Instead…there was a woman with long dark hair, styled into a braid that reached her belt. She wore a charcoal cloak-and an expression of near amusement.

"Identify yourself!" the Dark Lady barked.

After a moment, with a sickening lunge inside-Stefan recognised her. This was Robin's companion from the capitol. Lady…_no_. She was no lady. She was a bastard. Something…Stone. But now was not the time to appear ignorant. Stefan forced himself upright, and replied to the question as politely as he could.

"Ser Stefan, of House Vance. I-" His voice caught in his throat. "I have come to offer my services to you."

The bastard gave a dismissive snort. "Why should I want your services? You are not a man of the Vale. What could possibly compel you to…Hold on." The Dark Lady held up a hand, her brows knitting together as a memory stirred behind them "You were the champion of the Falcon's Tourney!"

It was painful even to think of that day…the glory of the win…Robin looking down on him with such admiration…it had been the greatest day of his life…"Yes, my lady." he mumbled instead.

Once more-the lady gave a wheeze of mirth. "I'm really quite astonished! You look so…small." She tilted her head to the side, leaning thoughtfully upon the arm of the throne. "You asked His Grace for the honour of a place in his Kingsguard, did you not? I gather that did not work out for you…?"

Stefan swallowed, feeling sicker by the moment. It was as if his grief for Robin was physically ailing him. "No, my lady." Perhaps it was better not to go into specifics…but Alyssa-ah, _that _had been her name-was much too sharp.

"Did that have anything to do with the fact that you made a poorly judged play for the affections of Prince Robin?"

She seemed to revel in tormenting him. Even in his state, Stefan felt himself bristle with embarrassment. Then again…what was the point? What did he have left to lose? "Yes, my lady…" He paused. "I spent weeks in the Black Cells for my crime. Then, I was banished from the capitol, and-"

"And so, you have come to the Eyrie. The place your…" Alyssa's lip curled with disgust. "_beloved_…once called home. To…?" She waved her hand in a vague manner, her tone becoming almost accusatory. "What?"

Stefan couldn't help himself. He had hoped to find some sort of solace in Robin's ancestral home, to feel some sort of closeness to him, any way he possibly could. But in this cold, unfamiliar hall, with this cold, unfamiliar bastard looking down on him as if he was maggot…the gaping hole Robin had left behind only grew more acute than ever. "…To serve." he whispered.

Alyssa leaned back on the throne, reclining as if it was a velvet couch. "I ought to send you home to Riverrun with your tail between your legs…" she snarled, a sort of gleeful venom in her tone. "…But…" Her eyes grew suddenly bright. It was, as if, she had just been presented with a fantastic opportunity. One could almost see the cogs of her brain working behind her high forehead. Then, finally-she spoke. "I will not."

"You won't?"

"Not this time." Finally, Alyssa got to her feet, folding her arms as she regarded the young knight before her. "See this as your final chance, Ser Stefan. Serve me well, show me absolute loyalty, and perhaps your potential will not be wasted after all." She paused. "And who knows? Maybe one day, you will even prove useful…"

Stefan bent his head, and knelt, offering his thanks, his services, his everything, just as he ought to…and yet, it was as if he were merely a puppet, with someone else pulling at his strings to make him move. In his mind, there was only one thought. The same thought, over and over again, waking and sleeping, always the same: _Robin…Robin…Robin_…

* * *

_Kings Landing_

* * *

"Good morning, Kayerts!" His face cast into shadow by his cloak, Robin strode out into the sunlit square, Ser Podrick Payne following close behind him. They walked through the small throng of men and women of Flea Bottom, lugging stones and work tools. There, in the centre of the square, sat the new well. Well, the _new_ new well, if one was to be technical about it. And beside it-there stood a familiar sturdy, bald-headed man, busily giving orders and looking very pleased with himself. The moment he saw Robin-he gave a gaptoothed grin, and sank into a bow.

"Your Grace!"

Robin could not help but enjoy it every time he was addressed thus. It was a part of him he was rather ashamed of these days-but by the gods, it felt good. "How wonderful it is to see our project up and running so well once again. If the gods are kind, you may be only weeks from finishing!"

"Oh yes, Your Grace," Kayerts looked delighted. Then, as if he had almost forgotten, he bent down and, in his thick arms, he hoisted up a stone that had been sitting on the ground beside him. Robin had scarcely paid it a second thought, assuming that it was simply yet to be added to the well-but Kayerts presented it as if it were the crown jewels. "Have you seen this? One of the lads carved this up-then my little girl did the colours. Sure, they ran a bit, but-"

"Oh my goodness!" Robin exclaimed, clasping his hands to his mouth as he took in the sight before him. It looked every inch an ordinary stone brick-but, worked into the side of it, was a perfect carving of a bird in flight, painted with bright coloured dyes. It was a chirpy little bird with delicate brown feathers, a little yellow beak and claws-and it was proudly displaying a magnificent red breast. It was clumsy, and inexpertly done-but the thought behind it was glorious. "How beautiful this is! A _robin_!" Robin was more than touched. He could feel his own cheeks turning scarlet too.

"That'll be the last stone we lay," Kayerts set the brick back down on the ground, looking enormously proud. "Right on top, so everyone can see it. The people ought to know who brought them safe water."

"Oh, I don't care about that," said Robin modestly-though it was half a lie. "As long as I leave Flea Bottom better than I found it, I am happy." He paused, narrowing his eyes as he looked up at the buildings around him. "It's a horrible name, isn't it? _Flea Bottom_? I'm not sure it ever even had a chance with a name like that. Who could possibly feel useful or successful when they have to say that they came from a place with _Flea_ in the title?"

After he had ensured that all was progressing nicely-and after he had shaken Kayerts firmly by the hand-he signalled to Podrick that they ought to retire to the Red Keep. He did not like to loiter for too long. Besides, he could tell that the longer they stayed, the more anxious Podrick became. And so, with some reluctance, they began to make their way back to the litter, which would take Robin safely home. For now, it truly was home. As he looked up at the castle above, before climbing in, he could not help but smile. How wonderful everything was! His projects were being realised, his hard work was paying off, he was liked and appreciated…and, that evening, he was immensely looking forward to the _forth_ dinner he would share with his husband...

At the thought of Brandon-_Bran_-Robin's smile became a beam once more, hidden bashfully behind his hand even in the privacy of the litter. Perhaps a fire of passion did not burn inside him when he thought of the king-but there were certainly embers, the very smallest glowing embers, that grew brighter every day…

* * *

_The Eyrie_

* * *

Stefan swung the axe high over his head-before bringing it down, far too hard, upon the wooden log. It split clean in two, and left a long scar behind in the stump he utilised as a base. Before he could stop to think too much, he grabbed another log from the pile, and swung once more. Again and again, in strict rhythm, never stopping, never resting, never letting himself-

Suddenly-a howl of pain ripped from his throat. It echoed all around him, right up into the Mountains of the Moon. There was nothing even human about it; it was the cry of an animal in agony. Stefan was less than a man now…

How could he stay here? And yet…how could he leave?

What a strange place the Eyrie was. He had not known what he had expected to find-but it certainly hadn't been this. Some nameless bastard, giving the orders, calling the shots? Surely it could not be right…and yet, there she sat. Up there. On the throne. On _Robin's _throne…

_Robin_.

Stefan's mind was in knots. Some small part of him knew that he wasn't himself…and yet, this was all he had. This man-this broken man-was Stefan Vance now. This listless, hopeless ghost…and there was no way he could ever go back. Not since Robin. And never again.

Thinking of Robin had become sheer torture. Every time he pictured his face, recalled his voice, heard his laughter in the wind through the Moon Door-he felt as if thorns were gripping his heart. How could he go on? How could he, knowing that Robin, Robin was alive in the world, living, reigning, talking and laughing…and someone else's husband?

Stefan could not stand it. The thought of that…that _monster_…that cold, hateful, freakish lord of ice who sat on the throne…Without warning, Stefan felt his arm rise, draw back-and throw the axe he was holding high into the air. It was airborne for less than a second, flying across the grass-before its blade sank deep into the mud with a dull thud.

_He'd kill him_.

For what he done to Stefan, for tearing him away from Robin…Gods, he deserved it.

But how could he? How could he kill a king? It was impossible. He had trained under Ser Brienne of Tarth-she was much too good, better than anyone he had ever seen. He would be cut down before he got near Brandon the Broken, and then, what was the point of it all? Besides…with those strange, unnatural powers, the king could see him coming before he even came…

So what then? He could not cope with this inaction. It was like asking the tide not to turn, the wind not to blow…Stefan clenched his fists. He couldn't exist. He could not go on. He _wouldn't_.

He could not live without Robin.

And he would not let Robin live without him.

Suddenly, as the Northern wind blew all around him…it came to him all at once.

If he couldn't have him…if they couldn't be together…then _no one_ was going to have him at all…


	28. Dragon Song

**Hello all! SO sorry for another late post-today has just been rammed! I hope you enjoy this nonetheless. Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! Sorry to be so repetitious, but I am just grateful! You guys are honestly the best. More tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

It was long past midnight-but sleep would not come to Robin. He turned over and over in bed, squeezing his eyes shut and trying everything possible to clear his mind, and yet, the release of unconsciousness eluded him. Perhaps he was too hot, or he had eaten too much at dinner. Either way; it was simply no use.

Sighing with the boredom of the whole affair, Robin rolled out of bed, his feet stinging slightly on the cold stone floor. He pulled his grey cloak on over his night clothes, lit a candle, and padded out into the corridor. A walk around the Red Keep might set him right. And so, holding the candle aloft, he began a lazy stroll around the royal apartments.

Even though this was his home, and he was a prince, he still could not help but feel distinctly wrong-footed, as if he was breaking the rules. Being out of bed at night reminded him of all those times he had ran from his room to his mother's chamber, in floods of tears after some nightmare-or simply because he was lonely. After a time, she had stopped bothering trying to tuck him into his own bed, and he had slept curled up beside her for years. As he thought of her; her smell, her voice, her arms around him feeling like the world's most powerful shields, he felt a familiar pang of grief. He missed her. Even after all these years, he missed her.

Robin sniffled slightly as he wandered along, looking up at the tapestries on the walls around him and trying not to think too much about his mother, or he knew he would weep. He shook his head, determined to distract himself as he turned the corner.

Then-something unusual caught his eye.

He found himself standing directly in front of Brandon's chamber. Only…the door was wide open. And, when he ambled forward to investigate, the room was entirely deserted.

Where was he? Robin frowned, lighting the royal chamber with his candle, checking every corner to ensure that his husband wasn't lurking in the shadows. But there was no doubt; the king was not in bed either. Perhaps, Robin considered, he himself could not sleep. Judging by the perfect state of the furs upon his bed, he had not even tried…

There was only one place Brandon was likely to be. And so, in his bare feet and cloak, Robin set about climbing the turret once again.

The moment the cold night air hit him, Robin gave a mighty shiver, hugging his cloak tighter around him. The wind was such that his candle was extinguished in a trice. He set it down on the edge of the parapet, and looked out at Kings Landing by starlight. The twinkling lights in the windows of the capitol were all but snuffed by now, so the only illumination came from the moon. He could see the silvery orb reflected far below in the gentle waves of the sea beyond.

And, sure enough, sitting out on the battlements, and looking directly up at the sky…there was a dark figure in black, sitting in a wheeled chair.

Robin felt another shiver-only this time, it came from within.

Brandon seemed utterly unperturbed in the face of the night's chill, though his face was very pale. His hands clutched the arms of his chair as he stared out-and Robin did not need to see his eyes to know that they were most probably milky white.

As quietly as he could, Robin approached his husband, that feeling of wrongness doubling inside him. For some reason, this state seemed like something private he was intruding on. However, at this hour, and in this cold, Robin could not help but feel concerned.

When he was close enough…Robin reached out a hand, and gently laid it upon the king's. His skin felt like snow.

Instantly-Brandon's head whipped around to look at him. His eyes were a perfect chocolate brown. Robin felt relief flood through him, a clumsy smile spreading across his face. "Oh, good. I thought I might have disturbed you!"

"You did." said Brandon flatly, those eyes piercing him like knives.

"Oh!" Robin was flustered with embarrassment. "I'm sorry! I just thought-since you weren't-you know-far away or anything-!"

"It's alright," Brandon's voice was extremely calm. "I don't mind."

Robin tried to catch himself, feeling more foolish by the moment. And yet, he could not help smile again at the kindness of the king's words. "Still. I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter," said Brandon, dismissiveness in his tone. He seemed scarcely even to blink as he looked at Robin. "Why are you up so late?"

"I might ask you the same question." Robin returned, slightly teasing. "Sitting up here in the cold…"

Brandon looked strange. "Sleep does not come easily to me. With so much inside my head…it can be difficult to even close my eyes."

_You don't say_, Robin thought darkly-and yet, it was not with unkindness. "I couldn't sleep either," he responded understandingly-though, in reality, he knew he could hardly claim the same metaphysical reason for sleeplessness. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

Brandon frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Robin said thoughtfully. "Whenever my head is all filled up with thoughts, I like to tell someone else about them. That way, it's almost like a bit of the burden passes onto them, and it isn't so heavy for me to carry any more."

Brandon considered this for some time. Then, he tilted his head slightly to one side. "I have all of history in my head. Everything that had ever happened, to everyone in the world. All their stories…" He paused. "It would take me years to recount it all, and even then-I don't see why I should feel any less burdened simply by sharing them."

Of course, there was no way that Robin could honestly relate to him, but he tried to look supportive nonetheless. "It must be so difficult for you…"

"Why?" Brandon's voice became sharper. "It is neither easy, nor difficult. It is just who I am."

Robin was rather baffled by this answer. He measured his reply carefully before he delivered it. "Yes…But that doesn't mean things can't change. I mean…" He leaned back on the crenelated stone wall behind him. "When we first met, you never even spoke to me. And now look at us."

One had to know him extremely well to detect it; but the smallest element of surprise crossed Brandon's expression. It appeared that this statement was news to him. However, he chose simply to agree. "Yes. Now look at us."

"Besides-I am your consort," Robin gave a small, playful grin. "I am duty bound to share your burdens and ease your mind."

Brandon looked up at him most sceptically. "I still don't see what good it would do."

This was going to be a tough shell to crack. Still, Robin was determined to understand a little more of his peculiar husband's world. Perhaps he would attempt a more subtle approach. He looked up at the stars, strewn above them like pinpricks of light in the darkness. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it? The sky is perfect…have you ever seen a more beautiful sky than this?"

"Yes." answered Brandon predictably.

"Tell me about it."

Brandon was quiet for a few moments before he spoke. "…The sky above Old Valyria, when the dragons first came into the world…" He paused, his eyes adopting a slightly glazed-over expression as he spoke. His voice took on an almost reverential tone as he described. "It was orange-the brightest orange anyone has ever seen. There were swirling pinks and blues like ribbons strung throughout it, and every star was ablaze with scarlet flame…and all you could hear, echoing up into the heavens, was the song of baby dragons…" His eyes focused on Robin for a moment, who was utterly enraptured. "Have you ever heard a dragon singing?"

Robin's heart had begun to thump in his chest. "No…" he breathed.

"It's like nothing else in the world." He paused, looking out over the horizon. "I should like to hear it again someday…"

Robin had believed at one point that he loathed Brandon's monotonous voice. And yet, when he spoke of such beauty, such wonder, Robin thought that he never wanted to listen to another voice again. "What other beautiful things have you seen?"

Slowly, once more in reverence, Brandon began to recount. "I have seen mountains carved out by the shifting of the earth. I have watched dragons fly across the world, the sun dappling their gossamer wings. I have witnessed every love story ever told first hand…"

"A love story?" Robin prompted him, gripped. "Tell me one of those."

Brandon did not change his expression in the slightest. His eyes flicked slightly off-centre, as if reaching back in his memories to retrieve it. "They were so beautiful, standing in secret by that river. Not even a kingdom could have filled the hole she left behind…"

"Who?"

"My aunt. Lyanna Stark. And the Young Dragon. They were…" He paused. "Like being from another world. Impossibly, inhumanly beautiful. They stood, one tied to Dorne, the other to the Stormlands, and yet that Septon tied them together anyway. She was his, and he was hers, from that day…until their last day."

Robin could scarcely believe what he was hearing. The words of the wedding vow resonated somewhere deep inside him, reminding him of the day he too had stood before the gods to be married. He remembered how miserable he had been that day, and felt the pang inside him deepen into physical pain. The wind seemed to blow right through him-and yet, as he gazed at his husband, he could not bring himself to care. "I was always told that Rhaegar had kidnapped her."

"No," Brandon said. "That was a lie. They loved one another."

Robin let a long, slow breath escape from between his lips. The sheer romance of it all was almost overwhelming. It was enough to make even the coldest of hearts sing. "And that is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?"

At this…Brandon met Robin's eye once more. "Almost…" he whispered.

Robin opened his mouth, a question on his lips-but, before he could voice it-he gave a huge, involuntary shiver.

"You are cold." Brandon stated, his voice becoming ordinary once more.

"Well-_yes_-but what's the _most_-"

"We should go inside." Brandon interrupted firmly. Perhaps it was a trick of the light-but Robin could have sworn he saw the slightest hint of colour enter those thin, pale cheeks. "I do not want you to become ill."

Robin sighed, feeling more reluctant than ever. "I suppose you're right." He looked down at his husband for a long moment, wondering whether he dared ask again…but, finally, he gave in. Then, he scurried quickly around to the back of the chair, and took hold of both handles firmly in his hands. For the first time, he pushed. And, in that fashion, with Robin pushing his husband, they made their way back into the warmth of the Red Keep.

* * *

When, once more, Robin curled up under the blankets-he felt more alone than ever. He turned over and over, rolling across the width of his bed. It felt so huge and empty…he was _pining_ for closeness. Feeling a strange mixture of sad and desperate, he grabbed one of the pillows, and wrapped his arms around it, snuggling into the soft warmness. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that it was another person…

Only now-that person was not his mother. It was not Bastyn, or Elliana. It wasn't even Stefan.


	29. Unfinished Business

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! I appreciate it so much. I won't keep you a moment longer. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy! xxx**

**CW: This chapter contains mentions of suicide **

* * *

Stefan had not moved for more than an hour. He simply sat, listlessly, on the floor in the High Hall, like a survivor of some terrible accident who simply didn't know what else to do. Mere feet away from him lurked the gaping Moon Door, like jaws in an eyeless face, waiting for its next victim. He could feel the wind whistling up from it, making ripples through his long red hair. Despite its frightful pedigree, to Stefan, it felt almost inviting.

One leap, and it would all be over.

And yet, he could not. He would not. Something inside him kept him anchored to the cold stone floor, preventing him from moving a muscle. He could not die, not yet. He could not leave his work in the world unfinished.

After Robin was dead, then would come the time for Stefan to join him. And, by then, he knew he would not care how it happened. The kingsguard could rip him apart limb from limb, for the sake of the gods. It would not matter to him, not in the slightest, as long as he knew that Robin was waiting for him on the other side. Then, finally, they could be together, with nothing left that could possibly tear them apart.

But how to do it?

He would make sure Robin did not suffer, obviously. It was fortunate that he was such a skilled knight-one quick flash of steel, and he would simply fall asleep, perfectly at peace. He would not even have time to feel the pain-Stefan would make sure of that. But how to get close enough in the first place?

It was quite simple. He was certain that, if he cut and dyed his hair, dressed like the smallfolk, and smeared muck on his face to conceal his freckles, no one would even give him a second glance. He had not been in the capitol long enough to make a real name for himself. Still…it would be wise to wait. His exit would still be fresh in the minds of those at court. No. A few months in the Vale, in the place Robin called home, and then, he would travel south for the final time.

On that stone floor, gazing vaguely at the Moon Door, Stefan recalled every inch of Robin's face in perfect detail. His eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his lips…they were sheer perfection. Absolute, unadulterated beauty…it made Stefan ache even to think about it. If the gods were good, his face would still be the last thing Stefan would see in this world. That would be a blessing…if only-

"It's beautiful here, isn't it?"

A sharp, female voice from behind him almost made him jump out of his skin. Stefan whipped around-to see a tall, dark lady with a black plait to her waist.

"I've always wanted to live here," said Alyssa Royce, walking slowly towards him. "Right from when I was a little girl, and my father would bring me here…I used to stand in the High Hall, staring up at the Weirwood throne…and I'd just imagine all the things I could do if _I_ sat there…" She paused for a while, seeming almost wistful.

Stefan was rather taken aback-he had been alone for so long, and to be interrupted in his thoughts was jarring. Nonetheless, he knew he was compelled to answer. "But you _do_ sit up there, my lady."

Alyssa gave a small, dismissive sniff. "I'm not a lady. Not yet. The king still hasn't legitimised me…" She folded her arms, staring up at the throne...before, an odd, shaky laugh escaped from her, dripping with cynicism. "The injustice of it all. I have worked hard every day of my life. I never rest. I never stop. And yet…all those years ago, when I was a girl, there, on the Weirwood throne, sat a stranger from the Riverlands, with a sickly little boy in her lap. Sitting. Always the policy of neutrality, always hiding behind these stone walls."

Stefan did not know how to respond. He simply stared down through the Moon Door.

"I always thought…In the War of the Five Kings, there fought a wolf from the North, a lion from the Westerlands, two stags from the Stormlands, and even a kraken from the Iron Islands. The roses of the Reach fought with one stag, the fish of the Riverlands with another…and yet, not a single falcon flew close to the field. The Arryns were kings too, once. What happened?"

Still, Stefan was silent. Even the name "Arryn" sent a shiver of grief right to his core.

"If the war happened now…I certainly wouldn't hide here. I'd go right down onto the battlefield myself, if that's what it took. I'd have taken on all five of the kings single-handedly for the chance to be queen." She gave a sort of sniff. "They'd have all wound up just as dead…One thing is certain-I'd have had a much better chance than little Lord Robin…"

Stefan felt his cheeks growing hot. "He is not a lord! He is a prince!"

His voice suddenly echoed all around the room. Alyssa shook her head slightly. Once more, she began to laugh. Now, she rounded on Stefan, a very dark look in her eyes. And yet…there was a glint. "Oh yes. That's right. Because he married the king." She took another step towards him, the hint of a sneer slithering into her tone. "Even though you loved him. Even though you _begged_ him to run away with you…But you could never be good enough for him, could you? You're only a knight. Life isn't like the songs. You may as well have been a peasant in a field. What are you… compared to a king?" She gave a small, sinister giggle. "You are nothing."

"I _was_ someone!" Stefan protested, leaping to his feet. The fact that Alyssa was utterly undisturbed by a fully grown knight shouting at her, even though he towered over her, was testament to just how wretched he looked. She looked almost amused. Instantly, hot, angry tears filled Stefan's eyes. "When-when I was with Robin!"

Alyssa scoffed. "Then you are even stupider than you look."

"I don't care!" Stefan shot back thickly, his heart beginning to pour unwillingly out of his mouth. "I can't bear it! The last time I saw him, he refused even to look at me. He would only look at the king…I'd kill him…" he hissed dangerously, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword. Then-his voice escalated into a scream. "I'D _KILL_ HIM!"

Alyssa barely reacted as his scream surrounded her. Her voice remained calm and measured-though that strange glint in her eyes remained. "You could lose your head for saying less."

"I mean it!" Stefan cried out, tears coursing down his cheeks. "Why should that…that miserable, inhuman _monster _get to have Robin, just because of the crown on his head?"

"You'd never do it." Alyssa said, as if this was a perfectly ordinary conversation. "He is far too well-guarded. Besides-he is the only man alive who would know you were coming even before you came."

Stefan shrank back slightly, breathing very hard. "I know that…" he whispered.

"And so we are left," Alyssa continued. "The disgraced knight and the bastard girl…each desperately wanting something we cannot have. I…Well, why should I tell you what I want?"

Just from the tone of her voice, one could hear her longing for whatever it was she desired. She spoke as if the words were sweeter than strawberries in her mouth, relishing them.

"And you…" She looked at Stefan as if he were a piece of dirt on her shoe. "For some, weird, reason…all you want is _Robin_."

Stefan was enraged-and confused. "It's not weird! And why do you speak of Robin as if you hate him? He told me-you were his companion almost all his life! He adores you! He wept for hours in my arms when you left him alone in the capitol!"

At this-Alyssa laughed once again. There was a venom in her eyes that would have disquieted even the hardest of men. "The poor little fool…" She made a strange, spitting noise-before taking yet another step towards the wretched knight. "I can see it in your eyes. You're desperate to go back to the capitol. And, as it happens…so am I…"

Stefan said nothing. He sniffed hard-but managed to hold her eye.

"I have some unfinished business there…" she murmured. "But the difference between you and I is that I am free, while you are banished. Which means that you don't care if you live or die. Perhaps you don't plan on coming back alive…"

Stefan let out a small, shuddering gasp. But he stood strong.

"Now _that_…" Alyssa murmured. "is something that could prove extremely useful to me…" She paused, looking him sceptically up and down. "So what is it you are going to do with your…short time…in the capitol? Try to kill the king?" A snort.

"No!" Stefan answered, truthfully. But Alyssa was unsatisfied.

"There is death in your eyes, Ser Stefan…" She narrowed her eyes. "I know you to be a poet. What about all those poems when separated lovers choose death rather than a life apart?"

Stefan said nothing. He could not. But all that was unspoken was louder than thunder.

"I knew it…" Alyssa whispered, her voice no more than a hiss. "I knew it…" Then, to Stefan's absolute astonishment…a terrible, haunting smile spread slowly across her face. "_You_, Stefan Vance, are exactly what I have been looking for…"


	30. Guarding

**Hello! How the heck are we on Chapter 30 already?! Where did that go? Time has truly flown! **

**I must apologise for this chapter being so short! I haven't had much time today, and I am rather excited about what is going to happen next, and so didn't want to rush it! Hope you don't mind! **

**As always, thank you endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! We're really getting into the crunch now, so remember to check back tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

"Podrick?"

Pod jumped half out of his skin at being addressed. He had been standing by for some time, fulfilling his duty as kingsguard. Truth be told, he had been gazing out of the window of the king's private study rather than at the king himself, who had been miles away under the cover of his milky eyes. There was little for him to do but wait while Brandon flew-besides obviously ensuring his safety. But now-Brandon was back. And his dark eyes were wider than Pod had ever seen them.

"Where is Robin?"

"Er-" Pod stumbled slightly over his words. He had thought he was immune to the king's penetrating stare by now-but never had he been looked at quite like this. Though the rest of his face was blank, in Brandon's eyes, there shone something he had never seen there before. Pure fear. "Well-I-The last I saw of him-"

"Find him." Brandon's voice was edged with foreboding. "Find him. Now."

"Your Grace-" Pod stammered. "The Lady Commander of the Kingsguard has stationed me-"

But Brandon held up a hand to stop his tongue. "_I_ am commanding you. Find the prince, and do not leave his side. Not for anything._ Go_!"

Duty bound to obey his king, Pod instantly, and against his better judgement, bolted for the door.

* * *

The subject of delicacy was one Tyrion ordinarily dealt with well. However, when it came to dealing with Brandon the Broken, all bets, as it were, were off. Since the young king never changed his facial expression any notable amount, it was near impossible even for Tyrion to read him precisely; and Tyrion was a man who prided himself on the ability to induct. Nonetheless, it was his job to try.

"…You got poor Ser Podrick into rather a lot of trouble today," he began carefully, setting down his wine cup on the desk. "Ser Brienne was furious with him for flouting her orders and deserting his king...it is not in the lad's nature to disobey…"

"Ser Podrick did exactly as I asked him," Brandon responded calmly. On the other side of the desk, he looked the model of composure; however, if one knew him well, one might notice that he was rather paler than usual. "He remains with Robin, just as I bid. I trust him, and so does the prince. He will guard him exclusively for the foreseeable future."

"Yes…" Tyrion narrowed his eyes. "One can't help but wonder, Your Grace, what could possibly have prompted such a concern for the prince's safety. After all, he is perfectly well guarded…" He paused-then lowered his voice. "You saw something, didn't you?"

Brandon did not respond immediately. However, he was bound by honesty. Still, his voice was as calm as a pool of water-but there was something odd in those strange eyes. "I have reason to believe that the prince may not be safe. There is a plot."

"A plot?" Tyrion questioned.

"A plot…" Brandon's voice seemed to dry in his throat. He had to swallow extremely hard before he could continue. "An attempt on his life."

Tyrion leaned back in his seat. After so long serving the realm, nothing fazed him anymore. Still, it was rather disturbing-not in the least because the generally expressionless king looked afraid. "I see…" he murmured coolly. "Well-I cannot say I am surprised. Power always inspires jealously, and-"

But Brandon cut him off. "I need Stefan Vance found, and I need him executed."

Now, at this, Tyrion betrayed the smallest measure of unease. "I thought that particular matter had been dealt with to your satisfaction."

"Things have changed," said Brandon shortly. "He must die."

"Your Grace," began Tyrion wisely. "You cannot simply…" Then, slowly, it dawned on him. "Is he the threat?"

Brandon nodded only once.

"Well…" Tyrion blew a great deal of air through his nose. "That's certainly a development. I know his time in the Black Cells may have rather unhinged the boy's judgement, but plotting to kill the prince consort is something else altogether…"

"The whys and wherefores hardly matter," The king's voice had almost doubled in speed. Tyrion had never seen him quite so passionate. It was as if another force had taken over his body altogether. "He has to die. Before he has the chance to get anywhere near my husband."

Despite the certainty of the assertions, Tyrion felt deeply troubled. "All the same. You cannot call for a man's head without a concreate reason. That is the behaviour of a tyrant. The idea of your taking the throne was to put an end to the era of tyrants-"

But Brandon looked past caring. "See it done, Lord Hand."

"Your Grace-"

"See. It. Done."

Tyrion knew that to argue was fruitless. In the end, reluctantly, he nodded his head. "As you wish, Your Grace." He drained his wine cup and got up from his chair. "I shall send swords to the Riverlands. They will do it quietly. Then, all there is left to do is hope to the gods your Uncle Edmure doesn't come asking questions…"

"He's not in the Riverlands," Brandon informed him. "He travelled to the Vale. Send your swords to the Eyrie."

"_Ah_." Tyrion understood. "The boy was a poet to the very end, wasn't he?"

"One more thing," Brandon spoke as if Tyrion had not said a word. "Robin mustn't know."

"No," agreed the Hand. "It is better this way. The prince shall be none the wiser of his old friend's fate."

At last, some small semblance of peace crossed Brandon's face. "Thank you. And Podrick guards him around the clock until the knight is dead."


	31. Ordinary

**Hello all! As always, thank you endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! It honestly means the world, and I really appreciate it. **

**Quick heads-up: I'm really sorry, but there will be no post tomorrow. I won't have the time, and I certainly don't want to rush what is coming next! But there will be a post on Friday evening (British time), promise! Much love xxx**

* * *

Dinner was shared in Brandon's private chamber that night. Robin always felt rather uneasy in this room, the large, fur-strewn bed being such a relic of a Northern past that Brandon could never recover. And so, he rarely entered it. But, day by day, he grew more comfortable-as he did with his husband.

"…quite wonderful, really, how much Flea Bottom is changing!" he was saying, between mouthfuls of fruit and cheese. "I can't tell you how much joy I find in this work. I used to think that the greatest thing in the world was sending bad people through the Moon Door-but now, I'd say that would only be among the _five_ best, or so." He giggled slightly as he took a sip of wine. "Truly, there is nothing better than serving the realm, and being rewarded with results. I think I'm finally getting a handle on this royal lark!"

Brandon's expression betrayed little emotion, or even a sign that he was listening at all-but he nodded curtly. Robin smiled at him, appreciating their quiet understanding. Besides, he did rather enjoy being the party that did all the talking, rather than the listening.

"I wish we could do this every night! I know how busy you are-and certainly how busy_ I_ am!-but it is so lovely whenever we have time to sit down together." Robin set his cut down, reached over the table, and gently patted Brandon's hand. "Especially so spontaneously. I was really quite surprised when you asked-departures from plans are not something I have come to expect from you! But I want you to know that I am very grateful."

Once more-by way of response, there was a single, silent nod.

"I mean," Robin snorted. "Between this, and Ser Podrick suddenly sticking to me like a limpet, one could almost believe that you were trying to keep an eye on me!"

Brandon did not respond at all.

"It's just brilliant to spend so much time with you," Robin finished, his eyes rather wide. "I know that you don't find this kind of thing as easy as I, or anyone else, would, but I really am thankful for the effort you make."

At this-Brandon's brow furrowed the smallest amount. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh-" Robin swallowed, back tracking as quickly as he could. "Nothing! Nothing at all, I-!"

"No," Brandon leaned forward slightly. "You were suggesting that I don't enjoy spending time with you."

"Well-not _exactly_-I-" Robin stammered. "I just meant that I understand that you find it difficult to relate to people sometimes..."

Brandon looked most peculiar. "Perhaps you are right." He paused-then spoke in his customary monotone. "Do you wish that I was ordinary?"

"What?" Robin shook his head a little too eagerly-and a little too quickly. "No! Not at all!"

"I wouldn't blame you if you did." said the king, his expression never changing.

"But I don't!" Robin protested, feeling his cheeks growing hot. "I honestly don't!"

But, as the words poured out of his mouth, he suddenly noticed a strange, faraway look in the very centre of Brandon's eyes. He leaned back, and folded his hands quietly in his lap. "I do, sometimes…" he murmured, his voice flat. Then-he fixed his eyes on Robin once more. "You were right. It is difficult. And I wish I could be ordinary." There was a short, loaded silence, before he finally added: "For you."

Robin felt a lump of emotion in his throat. He stared back into his husband's eyes, feeling almost ill-and hugely guilty. It was touching that Brandon slowly revealed more and more of his soul to him-but this statement was so devastatingly sad that it almost broke his heart. "No…" he whispered, shaking his head. "That's not what I want at all. And I never want you to feel like that!" He reached out, and took Brandon's hand once again. "I want _you_-exactly as you are, right at this moment." Desperately, he squeezed his hand. "I mean it. And I'm sorry."

Brandon's face remained carefully blank. But there was a certain mournful shine in his eyes. And, after a moment-he laced his fingers through Robin's. "I know."

Robin sighed, placing his other hand on top of their clasped ones. "We've both changed so much…" He gently stoked the cold, pale skin he was still growing used to. "For the better."

"Yes," Brandon agreed, finally beginning to sound ordinary again. "For the better."

Flooded with relief, Robin smiled again. He drew back in his seat, regarding his empty plate and drained wine cup. "It's getting late. I ought to go…" He stifled a yawn. "Sorry. I have not been sleeping well of late…"

Brandon had not let go of Robin's hand.

Very carefully, Robin proceeded. Since Brandon had been so honest with him a moment ago, he felt he could do the same. "I find it difficult to sleep alone."

Very slightly, Brandon tilted his head to the side. "Alone? Do you mean the young lady and gentleman from Gulltown that Lord Tyrion bought you on our wedding night?"

Sometimes, privately, Robin could not help but wish that Brandon did not see all he saw. "Well-" he stuttered, trying desperately to find something to say. "I don't necessarily mean-_lying_ with someone. In _that_ way." Once more, his cheeks began to burn. "And-and for the record-on our wedding night, we didn't-"

"I know you didn't." Brandon interrupted. But he did not look angry.

"I just mean-" Robin pressed his lips together. "It's nice to physically sleep beside someone. It's warmer. Less lonely. Do you see?"

"Not really." Brandon responded instantly.

"Ah…" Robin gulped. Then…his eyes darted over to the fur-clothed bed in the centre of the room. It was so large…surely, surely anyone sleeping alone in a bed like that must understand what it was to feel alone at night… "Well…what if I showed you?"

At this-something, which once must have resembled shock, filled Brandon's eyes. Slowly, he processed exactly what Robin was suggesting. After all, it was not an outrageous suggestion. They were married, and had been for some weeks now. It was only logical that they might one day share a bed-although, of course, he couldn't imagine that Brandon would ever want to-

"Actually, I think it's a good idea." Brandon said, all at once. "It might be better if you stayed here, with me…" He paused. "Where it is safe."

Robin wasn't quite sure what exactly the king meant by the final comment-but he was too full of nerves to think too much on it. Once more, he felt as though his stomach was filled with snakes. Still…he certainly wasn't unhappy. Quite the opposite, in fact. And so, there was only one suitable answer:

"Alright."

* * *

By the time Robin returned to Brandon's chamber, washed and ready for bed, the king was already under the covers. In the dark room, the candles already blown out, lay propped up on the pillows, looking straight back at Robin with bright eyes. Had he been expressive, Robin was certain that he would have looked every bit as anxious as he himself felt.

"Hello." he greeted him, awkwardly.

"Hello." Brandon returned. There was a short silence.

Slowly, Robin picked his way across the room, feeling distinctly as if he was doing something wrong. The prospect of getting into bed with the Three Eyed Raven was not one he had ever fully considered-until, of course, the moment he was faced with it. And then, it was far too late to properly prepare himself. And so, all he could do was to swallow his fear, climb up, and fold himself into the furs.

They lay in silence for some time, side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Robin took care that not a single patch of his skin brushed Brandon's, for fear that to do so was to cross some line. The bed was otherwise extremely comfortable…the mattress was soft, the furs were warm, and the pillows were heavenly. It was certainly a place that Robin could grow used to…but could he grow used to the person beside him?

Yes. Perhaps he could. The comforting weight of someone beside him was already more than soothing.

"Goodnight, then." he called over, his voice sounding odd.

"Goodnight." came the quiet response.

Feeling both extremely awkward, and more comforted than he had felt in a long time, Robin turned over towards the wall, and closed his eyes.

* * *

It was well into the small hours when Robin's eyes snapped open once again. Sleeping in an unfamiliar environment, it was certainly to be expected that he would not sleep soundly through the night. The furs were so warm, and felt delightful against his skin…and yet-as the fog of sleep cleared from his mind, that was not the only thing he could feel.

Slowly, Robin's hair began to prickle…as he felt the gentle weight of a hand resting on it.

Carefully, Robin rolled over to face his husband-and, as he did so, the hand that had been buried in his hair slipped down, and fell onto his chest. Brandon lay on his back, just as he had been when Robin had entered the room-but his arm was thrown clumsily across Robin as he slept. And, if he was not very much mistaken…Brandon had fallen asleep stroking Robin's hair.

Robin could not help himself. His heart did a happy little backflip that he was certain Brandon could feel. It was as if an invisible barrier between them had been broken. In the haze of sleep, in the lateness of the hour, some force overtook him, and he shuffled closer into the centre of the bed. Then, as Brandon's arm flopped limply around his shoulders, taking special care not to wake him, he wrapped his arms around him and rested his head in the curve of his neck.

Brandon looked much gentler when he was asleep, with those fierce, glaring eyes peacefully shut. Robin couldn't help but smile groggily at his strange, sweet husband, snuggling close. He was not the cuddliest of people, all limbs and sharp elbows-but Robin found that he didn't mind in the slightest as he felt the soothing warmth of one body against the other. The sound of his breathing was gentle and rhythmic, as was the soft thump of his heart. It was more than comforting…as he lay there, Robin found his eyes slowly growing heavy, the force of sleep overcoming him once more.

Before he had to shut them, Robin tilted his head upwards, and placed the smallest, softest kiss on Brandon's cheek.

And thus, clasped like children in one another's arms, they slept until morning.


	32. Dawn

**Hello! Thank you all so much for bearing with me. More tomorrow as normal! **

**As usual, thank you endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! You guys are the best, and I can't wait for you to read what I have planned...hope you enjoy this! xxx**

* * *

_The Vale_

* * *

Stefan was more than used to roughing it. As he lay beneath a hedge, listening to the horses whinnying from where they were tied up close by, he felt more at ease beneath the stars than he ever felt in the Red Keep. The night was fairly mild, and the ground was not too hard. In any other situation, Stefan may have been inspired to sing, or write a poem. But now…all he could do was wait.

"Are you sure it was wise to move in so soon?"

To his right, Alyssa turned over to face him. She was resting on an outstretched cloak rather than the bare earth, but looked vastly less comfortable than her companion. "Of course." she replied coolly. "One must strike while the iron is hot. Brandon will discover that you're not in Riverrun before long, and the longer you stay in the Vale, the easier it will be for him to find you." She paused, stretching uneasily. "Best to stay off the Kingsroad, and out of sight, so we can reach the capitol as quickly and quietly as possible."

Stefan ran a hand through his newly-cropped hair, which was shorn close to his head, the distinctive red colour dyed out with gooseberries. He had almost cried as the long red locks fell about his shoulders, and still was not yet used to it. He did not look like himself at all. Then again…perhaps that was precisely the point.

"It shouldn't be too difficult to enter the city," Alyssa continued smoothly. "Then…all we have to do is make sure that nothing goes wrong…" She shot Stefan an extremely dangerous look. "And nothing will go wrong. Will it?"

Stefan knew that there was only one answer. "No, my lady."

After studying him a moment longer, Alyssa relaxed the smallest fraction, finding some satisfaction. She turned over onto her back, and looked up at the mess of branches and leaves above them. "We'll leave at dawn. With any luck, we'll be on a ship by dusk…" Then, after trying and failing to get properly comfy, she closed her eyes.

Stefan was left, wide awake and alone. He turned over onto his side, curling up and hugging his knees to his chest. If they did manage to reach Gulltown tomorrow, the sea journey to Kings Landing was less than a day, if they had the wind. That meant that Robin was only mere hours away from him…a cold shiver passed through his body. To see him again would be heaven…and yet, he could not help but worry. Picturing those beautiful dark eyes looking up at him in fear was unbearable. He hoped and prayed that Robin would understand why he had to do it; so that they could be together on the other side…

He thought of what Robin would be doing, right at that moment; probably fast asleep in the Red Keep, on his own in a vast, lonely bed. At least he would be more comfortable than Stefan was…and, soon, he would never have to be lonely or miserable again…

* * *

_The Red Keep_

* * *

It was nothing unusual that Brandon woke early that morning; he woke early every morning, and prided himself on productivity before noon. However, it was certainly unusual that he awoke to find himself entangled with another person in bed.

Brandon blinked rapidly as he looked down to see Robin's head snuggled into his shoulder, still fast asleep and perfectly peaceful in the weak morning light. Robin's eyelashes did not even flicker as he dreamed, his arms weakly thrown around Brandon-whose own arms similarly cradled his husband. Brandon was quite dumbfounded. Yes, he was rather sweatier than he ordinarily found himself of a morning, due to the extra heat-but he could not recall a time when he had slept so well. Certainly not since he was a child.

He recalled his last months at Winterfell-his own life was sometimes so intertwined with all the other lives playing out in his mind that he sometimes forgot to differentiate. He certainly remembered the weeks after his accident, however…though "accident" seemed like a strange word to choose for such an event. He remembered lying in bed, understanding that he would never walk again, never stand tall, never ride a horse…He had wished and waited for death.

If that miserable little boy could see him now-nineteen years old, able to fly, king of six kingdoms, and sleeping in the arms of the husband he loved…Rarely these days did he feel more human than he did at that moment.

Brandon looked down at Robin, a surge of happiness that never quite reached his face filling him to the brim. He could not help but comb his fingers through that soft, floppy dark hair, enjoying how warm and silky it felt. Robin was so beautiful…and he had such capacity for goodness, greatness, even, that came out in everything he did. Brandon adored watching him blossom into a prince of the people, who served the realm and truly cared. It only made him love him more each day.

How could he ever have believed that he was beyond the need for physical contact? Despite all his metaphysical prowess, he was utterly powerless to resist. As quietly as he could, Brandon bent his head, and planted a shy kiss on Robin's hair. It smelled so clean and felt so silky that he was forced to linger there…

Suddenly-as he registered the contact-Robin's eyes fluttered open.

Instantly, Brandon pulled back. "Sorry." he croaked, as his throat cleared. "I didn't mean to-"

But Robin was smiling. He looked blearily up at Brandon, his eyes half-shut. "What a lovely way to wake up…" he whispered.

At this, Brandon felt rather awkward, unsure exactly what he ought to say. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, however. "You were sleeping." he droned, trying to sound apologetic. "I shouldn't have presumed to-"

"Shh…" Still smiling, Robin shook his head, snuggling closer into his chest. He looked so adorable in the morning, all fresh and drowsy. "It's alright. I don't mind. Of course I don't mind…in fact…" He gave a sleepy giggle. "Last night, I presumed too."

It took Brandon a few moments to catch on-and when he did, he came dangerously close to smiling. "I wish I had been awake."

Robin gave a small, dismissive snort. "Eagerness is rarely attractive…" But, nonetheless, he lifted his head up, and softly kissed his cheek. The moment he did so, Brandon felt the kind of light-headedness he had thought impossible with so heavy a mind. He was quite at a loose end, timid awkwardness overcoming him as he lay.

"I would like to do this again."

"Alright, then-if you insist…" Robin giggled once again, as he leaned over and quickly kissed Brandon's other cheek.

"No." Brandon could feel the patches of skin he had kissed beginning to tingle in a most warm and pleasant way. "I meant…this." He gestured to the bed.

"Oh!" Robin understood-and he looked happier than ever. "Yes. I'd like that too."

"Actually…" Brandon spoke, as he was wont to do, utterly candidly. "I would like to do this _every_ night." He looked straight at Robin, utterly serious. "Would that please you?"

After gazing at him for a moment, taking in his solemn expression-Robin spluttered-then burst out laughing. "Oh Gods, you are_ so_ funny!"

Brandon blinked, astonished. "I am? I don't think so."

"You are," Robin chuckled, stroking his cheek. "In your own way…"

Once more, Brandon wasn't sure how to respond. It was not a negative feeling, however. "You never answered me."

Robin sighed fondly, raising an eyebrow. "You are my husband, and my king. Who am I to disobey?"

After a moment, Brandon frowned. "I'm sorry, are you still joking?"

"Oh, Bran!" Robin burst out laughing, shaking his head-before kissing his forehead. "If it means I get to wake up to this every morning, I shall sleep here from this day, until the end of my days!"

"Good." Brandon said, his voice very flat-but his eyes shone. He looked at his Robin, his husband, whom he loved more than he could possibly express. He was truly the light of Brandon's life. And if anyone harmed him in any way, even dared to lay a hand on him, or displaced one hair on his head…But now, at least, he was safe, and he was in Brandon's arms. And he would keep him here every moment he could. "Very good."

Just as the words left his lips-there was a knock on the door.

"Your Grace?" came the call of his squire from the other side.

_Drat_. Brandon had almost forgotten. Right on the hour, every morning, his squire would appear to help get him out of bed and assist him in washing and dressing as required. As he was brought back to reality with an unpleasant thump, he turned to Robin, who looked equally crestfallen.

"I should-" he began.

But Brandon shook his head. He raised his voice a fraction, calling firmly through the wood of the door. "Not yet!" At the same time-he reached down, and fumbled slightly under the furs until his hand found Robin's. "Please-come back later!"

There was a short, confused silence on the other side of the door. Then- "As you wish, Your Grace!" And the sound of footsteps walking away.

"Haven't you got work to do?" Robin questioned-though he did not look as though he meant it. In fact-he looked absolutely elated.

"Just this once…" Brandon said-before pulling Robin close and kissing his hair. "The realm can wait…"

And with that, they lay back on the pillows, and snuggled down in each other's arms, soothed by the warmth of the furs, and by one another. Within a few minutes, both were snoozing away in perfect bliss.


	33. Birds

**Hello all! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! I appreciate every last one of you so much. Stay tuned for another chapter tomorrow! Hope you enjoy xxx**

* * *

Over the next few days, Robin found himself falling into a new routine. Every morning, he awoke early in a tangle of furs and arms. Brandon was always awake first; it was as if a mechanism inside him woke him at exactly dawn without fail. There would always be a cosy, if croaky, little chat, then Robin would unwind himself from the sheets and clamber groggily to his feet. He made sure he reached his own chamber before any squire reached Brandon's. He wasn't exactly sure why he did this-they were married, after all-but for some reason, it felt terribly important that their time together was kept private. He certainly didn't want gossip around the court about the king finally sleeping beside his husband, in any sort of arrangement. His nights with Brandon were far too precious for that.

They would go about their day relatively separately, unless there was an important Small Council meeting, or an event in which they needed to be seen together. Mostly, Brandon would handle matters of state and hear grievances in the throne room, while Robin managed his many projects. Now that Flea Bottom had clean water, he had turned his attention to other slums in the city, starting to lay seeds and connections to bring hygiene and health to the very poorest of their people.

Sometimes, evenings would be given over to leisure, and Robin would take walks around the gardens of the Red Keep, or watch any entertainments that were taking place, or simply read. At this time, always, he knew that Brandon would be sitting up on the battlements, with his eyes cast east. He was still none the wiser as to exactly what Brandon was looking for, but he was certain that when he found it, Bran would tell him. Nonetheless, when he was finished, they always tried hard to have dinner together in the privacy of the royal apartments. Robin immensely looked forward to these evenings. But, even if it wasn't possible for any reason to eat together, they always retired to the same bed. Then, after a shy kiss goodnight, they would fall asleep…and wake up once again in that same tangle of furs and arms.

Robin felt entirely transformed. He never used to enjoy waking up early, preferring to sleep in as long as he possibly could-but he found himself enjoying the cool sun of the earlier hours, the sound of the birds waking up-and certainly the way his husband's eyes, softened by sleep and familiarity, regarded him in the morning.

* * *

Knock.

"Come in." came the low monotone of the king.

Instantly, Tyrion pushed the door open, and entered the royal study. Inside, he found Brandon sitting beside the window, staring straight back at him with his customary harshness. Behind him, Ser Brienne of Tarth stood to attention, guarding her king to the very highest standard. And yet…there was something in her eyes that betrayed a certain sort of concern…It was a concern that Tyrion had seen there before. A concern he had seen the night before the Battle of Winterfell.

"You wanted to see me, Your Grace?" Tyrion inclined his head by way of a respectful greeting. However, deep inside, he felt a significant measure of dread.

Brandon was never one for pleasantries, nor one to beat about the bush. He merely regarded Tyrion for a few seconds-then, very calmly, spoke.

"I found Drogon."

* * *

Robin strolled out onto the battlements, in a wonderfully cheerful mood. It was early evening-the sky had not even begun to turn pink yet. Kings Landing was so gorgeously warm. Stubbornly, Robin continued to dress like a man of the Vale, and he often felt overdressed in his cloaks and boots. Then again, as he approached his husband, he noted that Brandon had never stopped dressing like a man of the North either. He wore customary black, sitting upright in his chair and staring out across the Narrow Sea.

"Good evening," he began, as he reached Brandon's side. "How are you, my-oh." Stopping in his tracks, he folded his arms, and smiled. Brandon's eyes were utterly whited out, his mouth hanging partially open as he gazed blindly out-though his true eyes were miles and miles away. Robin rolled his eyes fondly-he ought to have known. What else would Brandon be doing on the battlements at this time?

Robin found that he was smiling a rather stupid smile as he looked down at his odd husband, thinking of how much all his strange ways were slowly becoming endearing. Well. There was no use telling him anything now. He couldn't hear him, even if he did. And so, he simply laughed fondly, bending down to kiss his cheek.

"You weird old thing…See you tonight."

With that-he turned on his heel, and marched back towards the interior of the castle. Waiting at the entrance to the turret that led down was Ser Podrick Payne, standing dutifully by. As he approached him, Robin wondered vaguely if Pod would always guard him now. It certainly wasn't a bad thing, if so-he liked the young knight a lot, and was nowhere near as intimidated by him as he was by the Lady Commander of the Kingsguard. Pod was sweet and gentle by nature-though this did not mean Robin did not feel protected under his guard.

"Come on," he called breezily. "I want to go out."

Instantly, the first signs of discomfort played about in Podrick's eyes. "Out", whenever Robin was concerned, always meant "Flea Bottom". "Er-I'm not sure that would be the wisest idea, Your Grace." He looked nervously over to his king, who sat obliviously twelve feet away. "His Grace the King has expressed concern for your safety. You really oughtn't-"

But Robin rolled his eyes, bounding determinedly on. "Well. _I_ am going out. With, or without you."

"But-" Podrick stammered, jogging slightly in his clanking armour to keep up. "His Grace said-"

"Oh, what he doesn't know won't hurt him!" Robin fumbled with the hood of his cloak, throwing it carefully over his head so that his face was cast into shadow. "No one will even realise that we are gone. There and back, I promise. I just want to check on the well."

Podrick looked most uneasy as he followed Robin down the staircase. However, he knew his duty-to stay by Robin's side, no matter what. And so, very much against his better judgement, and no doubt fearing the wrath of the king, Podrick allowed his prince to lead the way.

* * *

Robin leaned over the side of the well, and lowered his hands into the full bucket that hung from the mechanism above his head. He cupped them, and felt them fill with cold, fresh water. Then, he brought them to his mouth, and drank deeply.

"Mmm!" He looked up and grinned. "It's perfect! Just like at the Keep!"

Kayerts' red face broke into a beam of upmost pride. "There we go, then! If it's good enough for a prince, it's more than good enough for us!"

"Shh…" Robin shushed him, looking tersely around. He knew that Podrick was no more than a few feet away, but he didn't want anyone to overhear that he was there. Luckily, Kayerts more than understood. He looked over his shoulder at Podrick, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course, Your Grace, of course." He lowered his voice obligingly, and patted the stone that bore the image of the robin. "I've heard rumours of other Robin's Nests springing up around the city."

"_Robin's Nests_?" Robin frowned, confused-and rather amused.

"Well, that's what the kids have been calling it." Kayerts chuckled. "The shape of the stones, stacked up in circles like twigs in a nest. And the carving sort of clinched it."

"_Ah_!" Robin was touched. "I see it! How…wonderful!" He could not help but giggle, feeling a pink tinge reaching his cheeks. "That's really sweet…"

After Kayerts had gone back to work, Robin could not help but linger for a while at the well. He felt a sense of accomplishment that he had never experienced before. It made him feel intensely guilty; all those wasted years he spent, locked away in the Eyrie, thinking that he was the centre of the world…He could have spent all that time putting his power to good use, making people's lives better. As he looked down into the water at the bottom of the well, he wished he could go back in time, and do so many things differently…

Suddenly-Robin almost screamed as something small collided with the backs of his legs, throwing its arms around his thighs and holding on tight. He looked down to see a little girl with a mop of tangled dark hair and overlarge eyes. She was skinny and dirty-though not quite as skinny and not quite as dirty as she had been the first time Robin had met her.

"Alys?"

Alys did not respond to her name-but grabbed him firmly by the hand, beginning to try and drag him away. "Come, come, come! Come and see!" she squeaked, pulling at him with surprising strength, given her size.

"Hold on!" Robin attempted to stop her, feeling rather concerned. "What's wrong, little bird? Are you alright?"

"Come and see!" she squealed, re-doubling her efforts. "You have to come! Now!"

Having already been displaced several paces, Robin looked over at Podrick, wondering why he had not already approached. Sure enough, Podrick was gazing off in the opposite direction. In his line of sight, a pair of very pretty girls were waving to him. They were dressed like whores, and most likely belonged to the brothel half a street away-but Pod had certainly never been one to judge. As the prettier of the two blew him a kiss, Robin shook his head, rolling his eyes. How he longed to know Pod's secret…but then again, he was happily married now, and past the days of whoring.

"_Now_!" Alys was practically shouting.

He wouldn't bother Podrick now. There was no point-he'd simply go and see whatever Alys wanted to show him, then hurry back to the square. Podrick would never even notice he was gone (the repetition of his earlier sentiments regarding the king stung slightly). Then, he would see Alys was safely delivered back to the orphanage, and they'd make their way home, before they could be missed.

"Alright then," Robin bent down slightly, pulled his cloak lower over his face, and whispered. "Show me quickly, and then we'll take you home."

He allowed the little girl to lead him through the streets, gripping his hand like a vice all the time. Robin smiled as he looked at Alys, the girl who had been the catalyst for all his good work here. He was fond of her…which made it even harder to refuse her anything. Even in the back allys, it was difficult for Robin to feel anything but safe in this place. After all, who would want to hurt him here?

"Where are we going?" he asked her, as they reached a narrow allyway that was splattered in graffiti. For some reason, this ally looked oddly familiar…and it was here that Alys ground to a halt.

She didn't say anything. She stared straight ahead, still holding his hand. As if she was waiting for something.

Then…

From deep within the shadows, Robin heard a voice he thought he would never hear again, for as long as he lived. And when he heard it…it sent a shiver right through to his very core.

"Oh, Robin…." the voice said…and, slowly, from out of the darkness, a figure emerged. The figure had short hair rather than long, and looked rather drawn-but there was no denying that voice. Nor that face. Nor anything else at all. "You're even lovelier than I remembered you…"

As the knight's face was revealed in the evening sunlight-Robin almost fainted on the spot. For it was, undeniably, Ser Stefan Vance…


	34. The Confrontation

**Hello all! I won't keep you long as I left you on a cliffhanger, but thank you so much to you all for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed and reviewed! It is incredibly kind, and I can't wait for you to find out what happens next...more tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

"…Stefan?"

Robin's heart caught in his throat at he looked at the knight he had once adored. His mind flashed back to the last time he had seen him-being dragged out of the throne room while desperately declaring his love for him. Stefan did not look well, to say the least. He had lost weight, and his new short, dark hair did not suit him-without his flowing red locks, he looked half himself. His clothes were worn from the road, and his skin was grubby, however, the most significant change was his smile. What had once been the most charming smile Robin had ever seen looked stretched and strange across his pale, sallow cheeks.

"It's me," he said, taking a step towards Robin, a peculiar, hungry look in his eyes. "I'm here. I came back." He took a deep breath, and surveyed Robin's appearance as if he was a sculpture. "Royalty agrees with you…by all the gods, I have missed you so much…"

Robin did not know what to do. He knew that Stefan would never hurt him; but, all the same, instinctively, he pulled little Alys back and behind him, keeping a tight hold of her hand. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, exasperated. "If anyone sees you-"

"I told you long ago that you were worth any measure of danger." Stefan drew even closer to him, still smiling in that odd, skeletal way. "Oh Robin, I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to see you again." He gestured all around them, at the surrounding of the ally. "This was where I first kissed you. Do you remember?"

"Of course I remember…" Without his specific instruction, Robin found himself taking a step backward. Behind him, a small hand tugged worriedly on his cloak. Alys was far from stupid; even she could sense that something was wrong.

"Did I do something bad?" she squeaked.

Instantly, Robin turned, and knelt down to speak to her. "No, sweetheart, no." he assured her, resting a hand on her head for a moment. "You run home now. Run straight home, and don't stop for anything. Alright?"

Alys did not need telling twice. She scuttled away at once, her arms and legs pumping as she sprinted towards the centre of the slum once more. As soon as he was certain she was away safely-Robin turned back to Stefan. "How could you bring a child into this?" he shot at him, suddenly enormously protective.

"I had to see you somehow." Stefan insisted, trying to approach him once again. His eyes were like those of a wild animal. This time-Robin found himself backing into the wall. "I hate to shock you like this, but there was no other way. I have been waiting here for days, hoping and praying that you would come down from the Keep, just like you used to. And now…you are here." He gave a short, shaky sort of laugh. "You are here."

A second later-he shot out a hand, and rested it gently against Robin's cheek. His fingers stroked the skin, as if making certain that he was real.

"What are you doing here?" Robin repeated, trying to duck away from him. Stefan's touch, once the most wonderful feeling in the world, suddenly felt dirty and unfamiliar. "It is…good…to see you." he said, carefully. "But you can't stay here. I will not see you back in those cells."

At this-Stefan laughed again. this laugh was nothing like his old laugh. It was high and cold, and felt almost dangerous. The first pangs of fear were beginning to stir in his belly, like hundreds of insects crawling around inside him. In this ally, unguarded and unprotected, with a man who had recently proved unpredictable…suddenly, the assurance that Stefan would never harm him did not seem so certain. Alys had known it, and so did he-trouble was brewing in the air.

"Please," Robin began, holding up his hands, as if calming a spooked horse. "It is incredibly sweet of you to come-but I will not be responsible for your imprisonment again. I beg you-_go home_."

But Stefan merely shook his head. He reached down, and took both of Robin's hands firmly in his own. "Don't you feel it, sweet prince? This is it. This is everything. You and I together, until the end of time…"

"Oh Stefan…" Robin could not believe it. Poor Stefan had lost his wits. "_Please_. You must understand-what we had was marvellous, and I thank you for it, always. You took care of me when I thought I was alone. But…I am married now. And I am loyal to my husband, the king."

Stefan was deaf to all his protestations, holding onto his hands so tightly that it hurt. "You don't have to say that now. There is only us here. You do not have to pretend for that unnatural monster anymore."

At this-Robin could not help but prickle. "Brandon is not unnatural! Well-maybe he is, a little bit-but he is certainly not a monster!"

"Why are you defending him?" Stefan was mystified, pulling Robin close to him. "What have they done to you in that place? You hate it-you are miserable! You don't have to lie for another second, not to me. Never to me."

The irony was not lost on Robin. "It is not I who is not thinking rationally. Stefan, listen to me." He looked him straight in the eyes. "We have dragged this out for long enough. I am sorry, truly I am sorry. Perhaps, in another life, we could have been happy together. But not in this life. You must go home, and rebuild your life at Riverrun."

Stefan was silent for a long moment. Then-he fiercely cupped Robin's face in his hands. "I know that. Don't you think I know that?" He paused, stroking Robin's cheeks again. his wild eyes growing soft. "You are so beautiful…There is no one in the world who is anything like you…" He sighed, smiling sadly at him. "I feel almost unworthy even to look at you…let alone…" His voice trailed off.

Once, such words would have captured Robin's imagination. But now, he could feel a coldness creeping into his heart. "What do you mean by that?"

"_Darling_…" Stefan murmured, studying Robin's face as if he could never look at it enough. "It's alright…" he soothed him, running his fingers through his hair. "I _promise_…all this will be over soon…and we will be together…"

"Stefan?" Robin's voice had crept up an octave. "What are you saying? You're frightening me!"

"Oh no!" Suddenly, Stefan pulled him close, crushing Robin against his chest. "No, never! I would never do that to you. Not ever…" He stroked his hair almost reverentially, in slow rhythm. "Don't be frightened. I am here…I have you now…and I am never going to let you go again…"

Now positively terrified, Robin struggled fruitlessly against his much stronger arms. He had never been strong, never able to swing a sword or run like the wind…and to escape the grasp of a knight was near impossible for him. What was Stefan going to do? Did he plan to take him by force, to kidnap him? Robin felt true fear growing inside. "_Please_." he begged, his voice muffled by Stefan's shirt. "Let me go."

"It's alright…" Stefan said again, holding him so tightly that he almost squeezed the life from him. "I have you…it's alright…"

Robin's fear was slowly being converted into adrenaline. He fought with all his might to be free, twisting this was and that. "If you don't let go…" he threatened, trying to keep the desperation out of his tone. "I shall scream. I shall scream, and scream, and scream, until my guard, or the City Watch, find us here. Then, when you are caught-"

"Shh…" Stefan shook his head, rocking him back and forth. "Shh, now. You don't have to worry about any of them anymore. It will all be over soon…" He kissed the top of Robin's head, lingering as long as he could-before speaking again. "We'll be together, like this, always…"

Robin found himself physically shaking with terror. "What do you mean, _over_?"

"Close your eyes…" Stefan whispered into his ear. Very faintly-Robin heard the sound of steel being unsheathed. "Close you eyes, my love, let me hold you close, and when you open them again, everything will be fixed…"

In less than an instant-Robin understood. His gaze snapped down to Stefan's hand-which was suddenly holding a dagger.

Robin had never experienced anything quite like the tidal wave of horror that overcame him as he looked down at the dagger-and the situation suddenly made perfect sense. It was so intense, so shocking, so utterly all-encompassing that it physically hurt. Just one thought swam into the forefront of his mind, stamped across his brain as if it had been branded there by scalding fire:

_I am going to die_.

"Oh…" Robin breathed. His voice did not even feel like it was coming from him. Then-it suddenly escalated into a cry. "_Podrick_!" he screamed, his voice echoing all through the ally and up into the air. "_Podrick_!"

"Please, sweet love…" Stefan's voice was disconcertingly gentle as he pinned him to the spot. Robin could sense the point of the cold, steel dagger being set directly over his heart. "Relax. Close your eyes…It will all be over in less than a moment. It won't even hurt, I swear it. I _swear_ it. Then…we can be together forever."

"_Podrick! I'm here! Please! Podrick_!"

"Shh…" Stefan began to press the blade to Robin's chest. "Close your eyes…I love you so much… "

"Please, Stefan, _please_!" Robin felt tears spring into his eyes and spill down his cheeks. He knew that a prince ought to die bravely-but they were relentless. He was in a state of sheer panic. "Don't do this!"

"Shh, shh…I love you…"

"_No_…_please don't…please_…"

Suddenly-it was as if Robin's mind had just set the world into slow motion. A thousand thoughts flashed across his mind like birds in flight-his mother's face, the sound of her voice, her arms around him…and Brandon's arms…_Brandon_…

"_I love you_…" Stefan was whispering, from somewhere incredibly far away. Then-his hand drew back. Less than an instant later-with all the force of a master knight, he swung the blade forward, and brought it down upon-

"Arrgghh!"

All at once-Robin was released as abruptly as he had been grabbed. He fell back against the brick of the ally, reeling from shock-as Stefan stumbled away from him.

Robin breathed hard, almost collapsing to the floor. The roaring in his ears told him that he was about to faint…and yet…he was alive. _He was alive_.

But what had happened?

Robin looked up to see…a falcon.

A falcon had flown down from the sky-and was brutally attacking Stefan. In a flurry of feathers, beak, and claws, the bird ripped, pecked, and tore. Stefan cried out in pain, holding his hands over his face as the bird savaged him, never relenting for a moment, attacking with a ferocity Robin had never seen before. In his dizzy state of relief and fear, Robin recognised it as the falcon he had brought Brandon as a gift when he had first arrived in the capitol…

But that meant-

It was too much. The world began to grow dark. As he watched the falcon that wasn't truly a falcon hold his assailant back, Robin vaguely heard the sound of shouting voices, and running footsteps pelting towards him…before he was swallowed up. In an instant, he swooned in a heap on the ground.


	35. Double Cross

**Hello all! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and stay tuned for more tomorrow! As always, thank you endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! I really appreciate every single last one of you! xxx**

* * *

"You there!" Podrick cried, marching towards the man by the well. "Stop!"

A thick-set, red-faced man by the name of Kayerts spun around-and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw a knight of the kingsguard marching towards him in full armour.

"Where is he?" Pod demanded, trying to keep the dread out of his tone.

"Who?" Kayerts shot back in his thick Flea Bottom accent.

"The prince! I saw you talking to him. Where did he go?" Pod was almost beside himself with alarm. It was almost impossible for him to maintain the confident, professional demeanour Ser Brienne had taught him-the situation was far too desperate. This was a blunder that could cost him his position, his knighthood-and possibly even his head. For he had, if he wasn't very much mistaken, just lost the king's consort.

"Er…" Kayerts glanced around, as if expecting to see Prince Robin coming towards them. "I don't know. I left him exactly where you're standing right now."

_No. No, no, no, no, no_. Pod looked wildly around him, praying that he was wrong, that the prince was lurking somewhere in the square and that he had just missed him. But not a single face in the throng of locals around them was familiar. "Well, he can't have just disappeared!" The panic was beginning to come out in his voice-as well as seeping into his face.

"Come on. He won't have gone far." Kayerts found himself automatically taking charge of the situation, as was his instinct in any scenario, and led Pod out into the crowd. Pod wasn't sure the man fully grasped what was happening, but he needed all the help he could get. He found himself beginning to sweat under his mail. Imaginary voices chimed like bells in his mind-what would the king say? Even worse…what would Brienne say? If anything had happened to Robin, he was doomed…

Trying to quell the frenzy that threatened to take hold of him at any moment, Pod breathed slowly, checking every face he saw, under every cloak and hood, desperately seeking out the prince. He was not especially a man of the gods, but he found himself silently praying harder than he had ever prayed in his life that they would find him…as Robin's face did not materialise, he began to feel sicker and sicker…

"Help! _Help_!"

Instantly, Pod's head whipped around at the sound of the cry. It was a woman's voice, high and shrill-and it was growing louder and louder. A second later-a woman in a charcoal cloak, with a long dark plait, emerged, running full-pelt towards him. It was-

"Oh, thank the gods!" Lady Alyssa cried, skidding to a halt. "Ser Podrick, you have to come! Quickly! It's the prince!"

Warm relief washed over Pod in the most glorious wave of his life-before alarm gripped him once again. "Where is he? What's happened?"

"This way!" Alyssa was already sprinting towards the backstreets, her cloak flying out behind her as she went. Pod had not choice but to follow, clanking along the cobbles as fast as he could-with a concerned Kayerts in hot pursuit.

As they made their way through the winding back allys of the slum-faintly, from somewhere in the distance, Pod suddenly heard a cry that turned his blood cold.

"_Podrick! I'm here! Please! Podrick!"_

Pod doubled his pace, almost treading on Alyssa's heels as they ran towards the sound of Robin's voice.

When they finally reached the right ally…the most bizarre sight Pod had ever seen met his eyes.

The first thing he saw was the falcon. It was a magnificent bird, its wingspan vast, its beak and claws deadly-and those deadly characteristics were being put to ferocious use, attacking a cowed knight. Pod did not recognise the knight-but he certainly recognised the body lying crumpled on the ground. With a cold shudder, he raced onto the scene and drew his sword.

"Drop your weapons!" he commanded, his voice as intimidating as he could possibly make it.

The knight was rather distracted by the bird-but the dagger he had been clasping clattered obligingly to the ground. The moment it did so-the falcon stopped. It reared its majestic head, and gave Pod a long, hard look. Then, with a mighty flap of its wings, it took off into the sky.

Pod did not have time to think upon the bird now. He marched forth, and grabbed the knight by the throat, pulling him into a chokehold. As he held onto the man, he turned back to Robin-who was being cradled by Alyssa. Meanwhile, Kayerts looked on in shock.

"He's alright! He's not hurt!" Alyssa called from the ground, her fingers pressed against Robin's chest to feel for a heartbeat. "Just fainted, I think! He was always a delicate little thing…"

As soon as she spoke-the mystery knight's head jerked up in surprise. "My lady?" he stammered in disbelief. "What are you-? But you said-?"

"You dirty, filthy, rotten beast!" Alyssa roared over him, dropping Robin at once and rounding on the knight. "I found this man threatening the prince's life, a knife at his heart!" She marched up to him and spat directly in his face. "How could anyone want to harm someone as defenceless as Sweetrobin! It is pure evil! And _treason_!"

The knight looked absolutely mystified. "But-but you said to-!"

"Ser Podrick!" Alyssa turned from him, scowling as if she could scarcely bear to look at him. "We must take this man to the Red Keep at once! He shall know the full force of the king's justice!"

Pod didn't need telling twice. If his reputation could be salvaged at all, it would be through bringing the prince's assailant to swift justice. And so, he allowed Alyssa to grab the knight's other arm, ensuring that he could not possibly escape. It was at that moment that Pod finally got a good look at the man's face. Though it was dirty, and bleeding from several deep scratches the falcon had inflicted-it was, without a doubt-

"_Stefan_?"

Stefan did not respond in the slightest to his name. He simply crumbled, like a man with nothing left, and allowed Pod and Alyssa to drag him on. Just in time, Pod remembered:

"The prince!"

"It's alright!" Kayerts called readily. He swooped down, and picked Robin up as easily as if he had been a sack of vegetables. And, like such a sack, he hoisted the prince consort over his shoulder. "I've got him!"

It was a most curious procession. Pod and Alyssa half-carted Ser Stefan between them, lugging him through the back streets and towards the castle. Behind them, Kayerts grunted slightly from the effort as he carried Robin's unconscious body. It was most undignified for a prince-but there was no alternative. All the time, Pod's mind was racing. Yes, Robin was alive, and would be fine. But he had still lost him, and allowed him to wander alone into danger…whatever was to become of him?

One thing was certain. Thank the gods for Lady Alyssa, otherwise Robin might have died…

* * *

The king must have known what had happened, because the moment the little party reached the Red Keep, palace guards were waiting to seize the prisoner. Pod and Alyssa were relieved of Ser Stefan, who allowed himself to be escorted away without a fight. He kept throwing Alyssa strange little glances, his eyes very wide-but he made no sound. Meanwhile, Kayerts gaped up at the Keep in awe, his mouth hanging open in amazement. He adjusted Robin slightly as he followed Pod into the entrance hall, looking almost comically misplaced in his Flea Bottom clothing, his gaze shiftily darting around as if he might be asked to leave at any moment. It was very momentous for a common man to enter the royal palace.

Robin himself gave a small moan as they entered, beginning to come around. As his eyes fluttered open, he clutched at Kayert's neck, giving a little cry of confusion. "What…?" he slurred. "Where's…?"

"It's alright, Your Grace." Pod answered, watching as Stefan departed. "You're home." He turned to speak to Lady Alyssa-and was most surprised to discover that she was nowhere to be found. In his worried haze, he had not even seen her go. But gone she was, without a trace. Why would she leave? Then again, Pod thought darkly, as he considered the fact that he would soon have to face up to the king, he rather wanted to vanish too…

Right on cue-King Brandon himself entered the entrance hall, pushed by a wrathful Brienne of Tarth, and accompanied by a harassed Lord Tyrion. Brandon did not look angry-however, he never looked like much of anything, so there was no reading his blank expression. His eyes merely bore into Pod's soul like flames the flames of the Seven Hells. Dreading his fate-Pod bowed low.

Kayerts was more than a little shell-shocked to be confronted with the King of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. He made to bow too, his eyes as wide as saucers-but Robin seized the opportunity to climb down. Still unsteady on his feet, Robin almost overbalanced as he landed on the floor. Tears stained his pale cheeks as he looked at his husband, his lips pressed together to suppress more…

Then-to the entire assembled company's surprise-Prince Robin sprinted straight across the hall, and collapsed into Brandon's arms.

"I'm so sorry!" he sobbed, burying his face in the king's shoulder. Meanwhile, Tyrion, Pod, and Brienne looked on at his display. At this enormous display of emotion from the prince to the king, one could have knocked any one of them down with a feather.

"It's alright," said Brandon monotonously, his face customarily set-but his arm had snaked protectively around his husband, patting his back in an awkward, but soothing, rhythm. "You are safe now. That's all that matters."

"Oh darling…" Robin gulped hard, clinging onto Brandon as if he might be attacked again. "I was so scared! I-I thought I was going to die!"

"I know." Brandon said plainly. His eyes caught Tyrion's over Robin's shoulder, and the inelegance of the situation intensified threefold. "So did I, for a moment…"

"But-but you saved me!" Robin cried, suddenly drawing back and cupping Brandon's face in his hands. "You came, you flew down from the sky, and you saved my life!"

"Well-I suppose I-mnph!" His voice was cut off in an instant. This was because Robin had just kissed him squarely on the mouth.

There was a protracted silence as the kiss occurred. For the first few second, in shock, Brandon's eyes were wide open and staring. Then, as the kiss deepened into something altogether more intimate…his eyelids slowly slid shut.

Despite his crippling anxiety over the perilous situation he had allowed to happen, despite everything…Pod could not help but awkwardly scratch the back of his head, staring anywhere but at the royal couple, whose kiss was lasting a few moments too long to be polite in company. Despite her anger at her old squire's failure, Ser Brienne of Tarth found herself doing exactly the same. Tyrion was the most dumbfounded of all, looking delicately at the wall as his brilliant mind endeavoured to calculate what exactly he had missed between the uncomfortable reluctance of their wedding and…well,_ this_.

When the kiss finally broke, it was to the relief of almost everyone. Still, Robin clung onto Brandon's neck, looking at him as if he was some great, golden hero of a bygone age, tall, gallant and chivalric. The king, on the other hand, wore a most curious expression. For a moment-Pod swore that his thin, pale cheeks had turned pink. But there was no time to think upon this as Brandon finally spoke.

"Ser Podrick Payne," he began, looking hard at the nervous knight-though it was somewhat difficult for him to retain his usual dignity with Robin draped around him like a pair of curtains. "This will be your last mistake. I trust the commander of the kingsguard will devise fitting penance for your fault. Otherwise, I bid you return to your post, and never desert it again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, Your Grace!" Pod stammered, bowing down on one knee to the king. He could barely believe his ears…would there be no punishment? Then again, of course-one look at Brienne of Tarth's face was enough to make even the hardest man tremble…"Thank you, Your Grace!"

"And you…" Brandon's eyes swivelled to Kayerts-who almost fell over in shock to be directly addressed by the king. He too bowed low once more, fumbling as he did so. "Kayerts, is it?"

"Er-I am, Your Grace!" Kayerts did not try to hide his amazement that the king knew his name. Though he seemed on the verge of forgetting it himself.

Brandon nodded to the man, in a manner that was far from unkind. He spoke without the slightest change in intonation to his voice-but the words were electrifying. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart for returning the prince to me. Such a service to the crown must not go unrewarded."

Kayerts did not say a word-but his mouth hung open like a fish. His eyes were filled with stars.

"My Hand will see you are amply rewarded. But now, you must excuse me," Brandon finished. "We are in need of a private moment. Ser Brienne, if you would be so kind?"

Instantly, Brienne obeyed-shooting Pod a dark look as she went, that read only: _I'll deal with you later_... She pushed Brandon out of the room swiftly and without ceremony. Robin scurried along with them, still dazed and unsteady-and still clutching Brandon's arm like debris in a shipwreck. And with that-they were gone.

Pod let out an enormous sigh of relief, so great that he almost doubled over.

Meanwhile, Tyrion remained frowning in disbelief, looking out at the world as if it had truly gone insane. He stared after the king, and shook his head a few times, as if trying to expel water from his ears. Then, as if he had given up trying to understand altogether-he clapped his hands, and turned to Kayerts.

"Come through to my study, my good man. We will talk, and devise a fitting reward for the safe return of Prince Robin. This may be the luckiest day of your life." He paused, blowing a great deal of air out from between his teeth. "And one of the strangest of mine…"


	36. Oldstones

**Hello all! Wow, thank you so much for all your kind words on the last chapter! They honestly mean the world. And thank you so much for reading, and continuing to read. We're really getting to the crunch now...stay tuned! xxx**

* * *

Robin was very much in shock. He remembered little of the journey to the royal chambers-it seemed that he had blinked, disappeared in the entrance hall, then reappeared sitting on the couch with a blanket round his shoulders. He barely noted the bang of the door behind Ser Brienne as she took up her sentury position outside. The only thing he was certain of was his husband.

"Promise me you will never run away unguarded again." Brandon was saying. His expression did not betray a hint of emotion-but his eyes incredibly intense. "Promise me."

Robin hiccoughed slightly, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. It was more than comforting. His heart was still racing from the fright, his skin clammy from swooning, his mind still swimming. "I'm sorry…" he whispered, a final tear spilling down his cheek. "I promise…" He gulped, trying desperately to pull himself together. "Oh, for the sake of the gods, the last person I ever expected to see in the slums of Flea Bottom was Stefan. He was supposed to be at Riverrun!"

"Yes." Brandon agreed flatly. "He was."

Suddenly, as he attempted to brush his cheeks dry-a thought struck him. He looked into those omniscient eyes, thinking of all they saw, all they were able to see… "Did you…did you _know_ that Stefan had come back?"

Brandon could not lie. He nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me!" Robin cried, his voice raising a fraction. Annoyance stirred inside him-and an acute feeling of being kept in the dark. "I would have thought that was the kind of information one should share with one's consort!"

Brandon was silent for a moment, before, with an air of admitting something dreadfully unpleasant, he responded. "I wanted to protect you…" He sniffed slightly, as if disgusted by his own concern.

"Bran." Robin leaned forward, the blanket slipping slightly, and covered Brandon's hands with his own. "Before we were married, you told me that you'd never infantilize me."

With the smallest shrug of his shoulders, Brandon nodded again. "You are right. I apologise. I was wrong."

Robin was most touched by the admission of guilt; he had certainly not been expecting to receive one. Perhaps that was one good thing about the king-if he believed an apology was necessary, he would give it without qualms. Nonetheless, he squeezed his hands gratefully. "Thank you. I suppose it's all done now…" He shivered, holding on tighter. "I cannot tell you how afraid I was. My mind…" Slowly, he raised his fingers to his forehead, and pressed them there, as if he had a headache. "As Stefan raised his dagger…I saw everything. My whole life. Like it was happening right there in front of me…Oh Bran, it was awful. And if that's what it's like to be you all the time, then I couldn't be more sorry!"

Plainly, Brandon did not quite know how to respond to this. He opened his mouth, as if to disagree, to reason that it was not comparable in the slightest…then, thinking twice, he closed it again. "The important thing is that you are unharmed." he finished instead.

"Yes-thanks to you!" Robin's eyes lit up once again, becoming very soft as he regarded his husband. "If it wasn't for you, I would be bleeding to death in a slum!"

Now, Brandon looked almost embarrassed. "You needn't say all that. Really."

"But I _want _to!" Robin exclaimed joyfully. "You ought to be hailed as a hero. Besides-I am proud that my husband is as brave as a knight…" He bent his head, and kissed Brandon's hands. Meanwhile, the king's expression had become rather thoughtful.

"When I was a child…" he mused, his voice very soft. "Before my fall…I thought I wanted to be a knight…" His eyes became glazed over in a dream of the past…before, abruptly, they swivelled back into place. "Foolish, really. Fate had other plans for me."

"Well…" Robin was not in the mood for Brandon's dismissiveness. Instead, he took his hands once again, looking rather playful. "You did save me. You rescued your beloved from mortal danger, from a terrible fate. I am sure I have read many such poems, and heard thousands of such songs. That makes you as good as a knight by any account."

He had said only half-seriously, meaning to send his husband up. However, as he was fast becoming accustomed to, Brandon's face did not change in the slightest. Merely, in a flat tone, he replied:

"Perhaps."

At this-Robin almost gave up. Being married to Brandon was hard work. And yet, he adored him far too much to resent him for a nature he could not help. Instead, he giggled good-heartedly, shaking his head. "You know that you _can_ smile, right, darling?"

"I know." Brandon agreed, in a plain statement of fact.

"…_Will_ you?" Robin was almost begging.

Once more, Brandon's expression became quietly thoughtful. "It is so easy to create a false smile simply by moving your lips…I will not do any such thing." However…his fingers laced their way carefully into Robin's. "But that doesn't mean I am not pleased."

Robin rolled his eyes. Why did Brandon have to always be so difficult? As if the young king needed another facet to his already aloof and abrasive persona. "Do you know? I think it would do me good to see you physically smile sometimes…"

"I think it would do me good to kiss you again."

It was so funny to hear such words uttered with Brandon's customary seriousness that Robin burst out laughing. It was so good to laugh…so good to laugh after such a horribly scary evening… "_Really_?" He became impish again, beaming in spite of himself. "And what makes you think I am going to do that?"

It was probably just his imagination-but Robin could have sworn he saw the tiniest glint in Brandon's blank, staring eyes. "What happened to me being a knight and saving your life?"

"Oh gods, I do hate you sometimes!" Robin spluttered, a warm glow filling him from within. Now, as he leaned forward in a pantomime of reluctance, he closed his eyes, and tried to block out the rest of the world as he kissed his husband again. He was beginning to grow used to the feel of Brandon's lips on his-though they were cold and strange, they were not unwelcoming. To kiss the Three Eyed Raven was certainly not an experience any person living-or perhaps anyone in history-could relate to.

"You don't hate me." murmured Brandon as the kiss broke. He looked so much more comfortable in the privacy of his chamber, his hands clutching Robin's tightly. "I know."

"And how do you know?" Robin jested, raising an eyebrow.

"I know everything."

Robin wasn't sure whether Brandon was intending on being so amusing-but he chuckled anyway, kissing him again. "You funny old thing..." His voice became rather syrupy as he patted his cheek. "You sit, and you stare with those awful glaring eyes, and you scare everyone in the vicinity out of their wits…but you're all heart, really, aren't you? You're just as sweet as lemon cake!"

At this sugary outpouring-Brandon suddenly frowned defensively-though his eyes were very wide. "That is not true in the slightest."

"Yes it is!" Robin giggled, kissing him yet again. He felt Brandon's lips beginning slowly to warm under his. "It's just the way I like you. And don't worry." Gently, he buried his fingers in Brandon's hair, brushing it affectionally out of his face as he went in for yet another kiss. "I won't tell anyone…"

Despite himself, and looking most affronted at its audacity-the corner of Brandon's mouth twitched. "Good."

* * *

Alyssa had been huddled in the basements of the Red Keep for some hours. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself against the underground coldness. Still-some discomfort was a small price to pay for the prize that awaited her.

With all the commotion, it had been easy enough to give poor Podrick the slip. Besides, if the boy even spoke of her at all, it would be only of her heroism, her determination to save the prince consort from death. She smiled to herself, proud of her own cunning. Thanks to the stupid Vance boy, everything was falling perfectly into place…

Though she had checked a thousand times before, she felt carefully in her pocket for the familiar coldness of her weapon…then, as quietly as she possibly could, she began to hum to herself in the silence of the cavern.

_High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts… _


	37. Humane

**Got this in just before midnight! Haha! Sorry it's so late. As always, endless thanks to all for coming with me on this journey. Especially to those who leave such kind words in their reviews. I appreciate every single one so much. I won't keep you a moment longer. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy! xxx**

* * *

"I wanted you to hear it from me." Brandon began, setting down his fork. He looked across the breakfast table with very serious eyes. Instantly, Robin's bacon turned to cardboard in his mouth. He swallowed as quickly as he could, and listened carefully.

"Ser Stefan has pleaded guilty to the charges of treason, attempted murder, and breaking his exile from the capitol." Brandon never minced his words; and, in this case, Roibn was grateful that he was incapable of sugar-coating anything. It was much better to hear it straight. "He will be executed at dawn tomorrow."

Despite everything, Robin's heart sank. He had known, of course, that this day was coming. And yet, hearing that the knight he had once adored was soon to die…that he would never smile that charming smile again…he could not help but feel terrible. Of course, it was important to remember that Stefan had tried to kill him. That was a fact he would not soon forget. Still…there was an acute sadness in him, and he gulped. "That quickly?"

Brandon nodded curtly. "No one wants to draw out his suffering."

Robin sighed hard. His fork clattered to the table, and he buried his face in his hands. "How horrible this all is. I know I may be foolish, but I have found it in my heart to pity him. He is not in his right mind. To take his life in this state seems…inhumane."

At this-Brandon's jaw clenched. "Please. Do not ask me to show him mercy."

Robin looked up, feeling as though he could cry. "Bran…"

"_Please_." Brandon repeated, a sharp edge to his tone. His eyes bore into Robin's as the ghost of what had once been the sensation of desperation crossed his face. "It is excruciatingly difficult to refuse you anything…But I cannot in good faith spare his life. He is far too dangerous."

"I know!" Robin held up his hands, trying to prevent an argument. "I know that…" Then, he wrapped his arms around his own shoulders, shrinking back into the chair. "I just can't bear to think of him locked up in the darkness again…" He gave a small shiver, blinking back his tears at the memory…

Brandon studied his husband closely for a moment. Then, more gently than Robin had believed he was capable of, he spoke. "He is not. He is locked away, I grant you. But his cell has a window. During his final night in this world, he will be able to see the sky." He paused, tilting his head slightly to one side. "In light of the fate of Ser Stefan, Grand Maester Tarly is conducting a study into the Black Cell's continued use. It is possible that they may be phased out."

Robin looked up, hardly daring to believe it. "Really?"

"Yes," Brandon stated, without the slightest intonation. But his eyes were not unkind. "Perhaps we have evolved past the stage of such…inhumanity."

Robin was more than grateful. He reached across the table, and took Brandon's hand in both of his own. "_Thank you_. Thank you for…listening." He squeezed it, blowing air from between his lips. "I think you may be the first person in my life who has ever truly _listened_ to me."

* * *

The morning came, and with it, the end of Stefan's life. As was their custom, both the king and prince woke early, in the ordinary tangle of furs and arms. But this time, it was more than a little bitter sweet. As such, Robin found himself clinging tighter to his husband than ever, burying his face in his chest and feeling rather ill. "Oh, for the sake of the gods…" he croaked, his voice muffled by Brandon's nightshirt. Out of the window, he heard the sound of a bird singing on the battlements. "It cannot be the lark yet."

"It is the lark." said Brandon flatly. He appeared to be in the mood for business, rather than tenderness. Well, as close to tenderness as he could ever get. In this sense, he took Robin's face in his hands and gently lifted it to face him. "I shan't make you, but I must ask. Would you come to the Sept of Baelor for the execution?"

Robin felt physically sick. "_No_." He shook his head vehemently. "I'm sorry. I _can't_."

"Alright." said Brandon, unaffected. "But I must attend. I will see you later."

"Yes…" Rather deflated, Robin slid out of bed. The chilly floor stung his bare feet as he groped for his robe. When he found it, he turned back, searching desperately for a scrap of affection. "Might we have dinner tonight? I…I could really do with something to look forward to…"

Fortunately, Brandon was not entirely cold. He watched as Robin tied his robe, a certain softness creeping into his expression. "Of course. I understand how difficult this is for you." Then, he reached out his hand. "I wish I could make it easier."

Thankfully, Robin took the hand, pressing it to his heart. "I appreciate your saying so. Truly." He could not believe that this Brandon was the same Brandon he had first met, who had been so entirely callous and seemingly heartless. It was truly touching how much effort he was making, and Robin was entirely overwhelmed with it. An inch from the king felt like a mile. "We are learning to look after one another, aren't we?"

"Yes." Brandon agreed at once. "I think we are."

Despite himself, Robin managed a tiny smile. "See you."

"Until later."

Feeling utterly empty inside at the idea of the impending execution, and yet somehow satisfied, Robin made for the door. Then, with a hand upon the door, he turned back, his expression rather soft.

"Oh, Bran?" he called back. His recent brush with death had given him a whole new appreciation for the moment. There was no time like the present to speak his mind. After all, he may never get another chance.

"I love you."

Brandon was silent for a long moment as he took in Robin's words. He took a deep breath, in, and then out. There was a definite air of awkwardness about him-and yet, it was not unpleasant. In fact, for less than a split second-Robin could have sworn that he looked _happy_. Then, in the most typical way possible, he acknowledged the declaration with a slight nod. "Thank you."

Robin's heart glowed. With a little snort of mirth, he slipped out of the chamber, and began the journey down the hallway to his own room in relatively high spirits. Brandon would not have been Brandon if he had replied any other way. And Robin knew what he meant. He knew it in his heart.

* * *

Even in his younger, wilder days, Tyrion had never truly enjoyed executions. Since he had narrowly avoided his own on several occasions, he had a certain sympathy with the condemned that other men lacked. He found the ceremony of the whole thing, the crowd before the Sept baying for blood, rather distasteful. Especially as today's victim of Monkoen's incredible machine had numbered scarcely one-and-twenty years. But still, he was the Hand of the King, and his place was beside the king. He would not desert that post for anything.

Brandon sat beside him, entirely quiet as he looked up at the morning sky. Tyrion could not say that he blamed him. It was not often that a king had such a personal stake in an execution. Ser Stefan Vance had not only kissed his husband, but declared his undying love for him. Then, of course, he had tried to murder him. Tyrion was unsure he quite understood Stefan's motives in that respect. Then again, could any man ever truly understand another?

Before he knew it, the time was come. The newly dark-headed Stefan Vance was escorted onto the scaffold by armed guards. At once, the crowd rose up with one voice, spitting and crying out their hatred for the disgraced knight before him. Their ferocity was truly testament to just how popular Robin was. Robin was _their_ prince. And anyone who tried to hurt him was less than scum.

Brandon did not react. He simply looked on, his eyes filled with righteous fire.

After the crowd finally settled, the moment arrived for the condemned to give his final speech. His status afforded him such a privilege. Tyrion watched as he stood upon the platform, his hands steady, his face set. Not even the shadow of Monkoen's blade behind him appeared to phase him. This was a man with one foot on the other side already. Tyrion shivered to see one so young so fearless in the face of his own death.

"Your Grace." Stefan began, managing without effort to convey the contempt in his tone. "My lords, my ladies…Good people of Kings Landing…" He cleared his throat, and declared for all to hear. "I stand before you today as a sentenced knight, come here to die for my crimes. I am a breaker of banishment, a would-be slayer of a royal prince, and a traitor to the realm."

The crowd yelled and spat its disgust. Meanwhile, Tyrion watched in silence beside his king as the young knight spoke his last.

"However…" Stefan paused. Then-he raised his voice almost to a shout "I consider it an honour to die in the name of love! It is all I have ever wanted! And so…" He turned to Brandon a final time, defiance in his eyes. "Farewell, cold, unfeeling king, and farewell cold, unfeeling world! I die with Robin's name upon my lips!"

That's done it. The crowd practically screamed as Stefan was dragged away to Monkoen's machine, and his head secured in the stocks. Tyrion felt distinctly uncomfortable, and had to fight not to avert his gaze.

"He _needs_ to sort out his priorities…" Bronn mumbled from his right.

"Really? He'd need years for that…" Tyrion whispered back. He ensured that Brandon was too absorbed in the execution to pay attention, before he spoke again. "And, if I'm not mistaken-he's only got about-"

Before he could even finish his sentence-the blade had fallen with a sickening _thunk._ And, in that same instant-Stefan's head fell unceremoniously into the waiting basket. The crowd roared it's approval with such enthusiasm that Tyrion was half-deafened.

As soon as it was done-Brandon signalled to Brienne of Tarth, who waited behind him. At once, she began to push him back towards the Red Keep, and away from the corpse of his enemy. Thoughtfully, Tyrion watched him go, a strange look upon his face…

"I'm not sure if Monkoen's machine has made life more humane…or has taken all the fun out of executions." Bronn was drawling, leaning back on one hip to watch as Stefan's body was dragged off of the scaffold, and his head collected from the basket. It was to be sewn back on, Tyrion believed, and his body was to be returned to his family in the Riverlands. That mercy, at least, was Brandon's courtesy to him. It may not have been much of a comfort to the boy's poor parents, but it was a far cry from what Joffrey would have done…

"Executions aren't _supposed _to be fun!" Samwell Tarly was insisting earnestly.

Bronn rolled his eyes, looking incredibly bored. "Get a life, Tarly." With that, he strolled off into the crowd. It was left for Tyrion and Sam to accompany one another on the long walk back to the Keep. Despite this "exciting" morning, there was still much work to be done. The realm did not stop for Ser Stefan, after all…

"His Grace and the prince seem to be getting along well!" Sam remarked, by way of conversation as they trudged up the hill, closely followed by several guards.

"Ah, yes…" Tyrion cast his mind back to the scene after Robin's attack, thankful at least to think of something other than Ser Stefan's headless corpse. "I understand gratitude as much as the next man, but the way Robin has started to look at our king is frankly nauseating."

"Well, I think it's nice!" Sam said, ever optimistic. "And it is good for our image. Robin is so popular with the common people, and the king would do well to share in his success. Frankly, His Grace would benefit from showing his human side occasionally."

Tyrion pursed his lips, looking up at the sky once more. It was beginning to turn grey, with enormous dark clouds masking every inch of sunlight. A storm was coming, black and heavy, and it was coming soon…

"If he still has one."

* * *

Robin covered his eyes, and buried his head in his pillows. His own bed felt empty and cold without Brandon, and he could not find comfort. If someone had told him a year ago that he would weep for a man who had tried to kill him, he would never have believed them. And yet, as his eyes stung, and tears rolled down his cheeks, here he was.

Miserably, Robin curled up on his side and closed his eyes. Perhaps he would fall asleep, and some of this black day would be lost to oblivion…

Suddenly-he heard a creak.

Someone had opened his door.

"I don't want anything." he called to whichever squire had appeared, not bothering to look up, or even to open his eyes. "Please leave me alone."

"Sweetrobin?"

All at once-Robin's heart leapt into his mouth.

For the voice that had filled the room was that of a woman. And a woman Robin had known for most of his life. The footsteps that were crossing the room towards him were completely familiar-as was the sweep of a charcoal cloak on the ground.

"Oh, my poor Sweetrobin. I am here. It is I…it is Alyssa…"


	38. The Dark Lady

**Hey everyone! I am so, so sorry for not posting yesterday. I am literally the worst. Thank you all so much for sticking with me, and thank you even more for reading, following, fave-ing, and commenting. More tomorrow, promise! xxx**

* * *

"…Alyssa?"

Robin could hardly believe his eyes. Then, as the appearance of his oldest and dearest friend sunk in-his mouth stretched into an enormous, wobbly grin. "By all the gods!"

"My little prince," Alyssa swept over to the bed, smiling back. She gave a little half-sardonic bow. "Royalty agrees with you."

"What are you _doing_ here?" Robin leapt up, ran to her, and threw his arms around her neck, squeezing so tightly she gave a little breathless grunt.

"Did you really think I'd leave you here in this terrible city of liars and cheats without even a visit?" She cupped his face in her hands, gently pinching his cheeks. "It has been too long, Sweetrobin. I have missed you something dreadful."

"It is so wonderful to see you!" Robin felt like he could burst into tears of joy. He had not had any part of the Eyrie, or of home, to hold onto for quite some time. Yes, knights of the Vale bolstered the royal forces, but it was not the same. Here was a true child of the Vale, standing right in front of him-and he felt almost as if he was back in the High Hall itself. "I have so much to tell you!" he exclaimed, sitting down on the foot of the bed and gesturing for her to join him. "All about Flea Bottom, and the Council, and the _king_, and-"

"Ah, yes…" Alyssa took her seat gracefully, before raising an eyebrow. "How is married life with that…_fascinating_…specimen?"

Robin could not help himself. He felt a warm pink glow flooding his cheeks, his grin exploding into a beam. "Oh, dear Alyssa, it is utterly heavenly."

At this-Alyssa did an enormous double-take. "_Really_?" she drawled, as if certain he was joking.

"Well-not _utterly_." said Robin levelly. "He can be challenging, I suppose. But the good parts more than make up for the bad." He took Alyssa's hands excitedly in his own, squeezing them tightly. "He is an absolute darling. I don't have the words to express how happy I am!"

"Somehow, I find that difficult to believe…" Alyssa said coarsely, her eyes practically popping out of her head. "Are you certain we are speaking of the same Brandon Stark? Brandon the Broken?"

"Of course we are!" Robin giggled, looking slightly put-out. "My Bran."

"_Your_ Bran?" Alyssa scoffed, frowning at Robin as if trying to detect an illness in him. "How strangely you speak. I expected to find you miserable, welded to that…being."

Slowly, Robin took a deep breath. He could not simply let his guest's attitude slide. He drew himself up, and spoke very calmly. "Alyssa…I am beyond happy to see you, you know that I am. But I do not like the way you are talking about my husband. Bran is not all that he seems. He is…_different_, certainly-but that does not mean that he's not a good man. He is. Deeply so."

Despite all his effort-Alyssa simply snorted. "If you say so, little prince..."

Now, Robin felt true annoyance beginning to climb his throat. With the air of his much younger self, he dropped her hands disdainfully into her lap. "Do not call me "little prince"! I am Robin of House Arryn, Prince Consort of the Six Kingdoms and Lord Paramount of the Vale. You cannot speak to me as if I am a child."

But Alyssa merely looked amused as he listed his titles, shaking her head fondly. It was as if he was a toddler throwing a silly hissy fit. When he was finished, she even patted his head. "You will always be little to me, Sweetrobin…" She gave a little sigh-then smiled playfully. "But if you are such a _grown-up, _and an important one at that, I am sure you will allow me to pour us a glass of wine."

"Yes. Do that." Robin said, trying hard to retain his dignity as she got to her feet and swept across the room to his wine-jug. How strange it was. It had been Alyssa who had first forced him to grow up by showing him Flea Bottom…then again, Robin felt that he had done the bulk of his maturing in her absence. Perhaps she had simply missed it. He would give her the benefit of the doubt; besides, a small part of him was a little delighted to be treated once more in the manner he had been so accustomed to at home in the Vale. It reminded him of why he had loved Alyssa so. With her long dark hair and gentle hands, which stroked his hair with such tenderness, she made him feel almost as if his mother was still with him…

"It really is delightful to see you, dear Alyssa," he smiled, deciding it was not worth continuing the argument. "I missed you too."

"I am sure you did," Alyssa chuckled as she poured two cups, her back to him. "I see they are executing your ginger knight today. It is cheering to see the King's Justice alive and well in the capitol."

"_Don't_." Robin gave a little shudder-the appearance of Alyssa had almost erased the true purpose of this morning from his mind. "I can't bear to think of him. Let's speak of something pleasant instead." He leaned forward eagerly. "How is home?"

Alyssa made a slightly dismissive noise, still bending over the wine cups. "Well, the Eyrie still stands."

"I _know_." Robin folded his arms. "I correspond almost constantly with your father. He tells me that things are well. I meant…" He paused. "Tell me _of_ home. I dream of it…"

"It is all the quieter for the lack of you."

"Oh Alyssa, don't tease!"

"It's true!"

"I would love to come and visit…" Robin rested his chin on his hands thoughtfully. "But it is not easy for Bran to physically travel-he really does prefer to stay at home, and I am most reluctant to leave him. Maybe I will come alone some time next year? Once we are settled."

"Maybe you will, Sweetrobin," Alyssa breezed, returning to the bed with two full cups of wine. She carefully passed the cup in her left hand to Robin, ensuring that he took it. "Maybe you will. Now-drink."

"I must say, living in the capitol has given me quite the taste for Dornish red…" Robin sipped readily, enjoying the sweetness spreading over his tongue in a most satisfying manner. "It is just delicious. The nectar of the gods."

"Mmm," Alyssa agreed, raising her own cup. "A toast. To…the future."

"Yes." Robin hurriedly swallowed and raised his in return. "The future. And to my dearest friend, Alyssa Stone! May she-!"

"_Drink_." Alyssa laughed, cutting him off. "Enjoy…"

Robin did so, drawing deeply from the cup. The sweetness seemed even more delectable today. Perhaps it was the company. He beamed at his companion, feeling utterly at ease. "I wish you were always here with me."

"Ah no…" Alyssa shook her head, watching him like a hawk. "I belong in the Vale. And I would never want to live in this city of piss and shit."

"It's not that bad!" Robin protested, before taking another drink. "Not since my work in Flea Bottom. Grand Maester Tarly says that public health has never been better in the capitol, now the people have access to clean water. It is truly a new age."

"Is that so?" Alyssa murmured, only mildly interested.

"Yes! It is the proudest achievement of my life." Robin said in earnest. Then, out of seemingly nowhere-he stifled a yawn. "Oh, for the sake of the gods, look at me! What is wrong with me? I only woke a few hours ago! But yes-my work with the very poorest has proved my greatest test, and my greatest joy. Well…" He smiled. "Apart from possibly my husband! He is just…he's a…" Suddenly-Robin's eyelids began to grow immeasurably heavy. "He's…"

"_Drink_." Alyssa placed her finger on the bottom of Robin's cup, and attempted to tip the rest of the wine down his throat. A quantity of it splashed onto the floor-but once the glass was empty, Robin's drowsiness instantly grew twelvefold. Suddenly-he could not even hold his own head up. With the room spinning, and sickness growing in his belly, he doubled over, and slipped from the bed onto the floor.

"Ah, my lovely Sweetrobin…" Alyssa's voice sounded as though it was coming from extremely far away. As the coldness of the floor stung him through his clothes, he felt hands gently cradling his head, fingers combing through his hair. "Shh…shh now…"

"What's…happening…?" Robin slurred. From somewhere in his delirium-true fear had taken hold within his heart. "I…I don't…"

"Shh, little Sweetrobin…" Alyssa lulled him, her voice extremely soft. "Relax…close your eyes…"

Robin's thoughts were clouded. He could not focus. Slowly, he began to lose the sensation of coldness from the floor, the feel of Alyssa's skirts, the sound of birds outside the window…He could not even think. The colours of the world were simply a wash of darkness…everything was fading into oblivion.

"Very good…" A voice whispered, from a different world. "That's right…just close your eyes, and you'll be with your mother once more…" A hand was clasped over his eyes. "Give in. Let go…Sleep…"

Robin could feel nothing. There was no fighting, no resisting, no nothing…For less than a split second, the image of Brandon's face flashed across his empty mind, those most intense of eyes regarding him with love.

Then, all was blackness. All was gone…

* * *

As soon as Robin's head lulled lifelessly in her lap-Alyssa knew true elation.

She got to her feet, letting Robin fall to the ground. His arms sprawled alarmingly over the stone, his face not quite peaceful as the shadow of the red wine stained his frozen lips. As Alyssa moved, the empty vial of Essence of Nightshade clinked in the pocket of her cloak.

There was a certain sadness his her heart as she looked down at the form of her old companion. He had been her Sweetrobin since he was a child...but there was no time to think upon that. She had mere minutes to make her escape. Back to the Vale...back to her throne...

Turning her back to Robin, she gathered her cloak and swept from the room. As she turned the handle of the chamber door, locking it firmly and seizing the key, she found herself humming softly under her breath.

_"And she never wanted to leave…never wanted to leave…"_

Triumph was hers.


	39. Chaos

**Hello all! I'm so sorry, but this is only half the chapter I wanted to post today! I just haven't had any time at all. Thank you so much to all for bearing with me, and you'll get the rest tomorrow. As always, endless thank yous for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed. It is incredibly kind and I appreciate your time so much. See you tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

Brandon had not moved for some time. He sat listlessly in his chair, staring out with numb eyes, at the scene before him in Robin's chamber.

Tyrion had not yet tried to speak to him. Even if he did, he doubted that he would answer. Sadly, he knew all too well exactly what the young king was going through, looking down at the lifeless body of someone close. Still. Was anything Brandon went through truly relatable, in any sense? Once more, it was impossible to know what exactly was going on in the uncharted hinterland behind those dark, omniscient eyes…

"The wine…" Samwell Tarly was muttering, crouching beside the spilled red pool on the floor. He looked up at the king, gentle sympathy in his eyes. "You said she poured something into the wine?"

Brandon did not speak. Very slightly, he inclined his head. Then, his eyes darted straight back to Robin.

Being very careful not to touch the prince, Sam groped in the pockets of his robes until he found a small vial. He set the rim of the vial on the ground, and began to encourage a few drops of the spillage inside. "I can test this sample, and figure out which poison it was, but at a guess, I'd say Nightshade. There is no blood, no discolouration of the skin, no-"

"What does it matter?" Tyrion spoke so suddenly he even surprised himself. "It won't bring him back." He took several steps forward, towards the prince. Robin lay sprawled on the stone floor, his skin pale, his lips reddened with wine stain. Tyrion considered the first time he had seen the little lord, his lips crusted white with milk. It seemed, in the worst possible way, almost cyclical.

Tyrion felt vaguely sick. It was impossible to grow used to seeing such youthful dead; it was backwards, utterly unnatural. He recalled Myrcella, his niece, who had been even younger than Robin was when she died…

Of course…as Tyrion's eyes flicked to the wine spill on the floor, Myrcella had also been poisoned…

"Fascinating…" Sam was murmuring, staring at the vial. "Essence of Nightshade is an incredible substance. Ten drops in a glass of wine is absolutely lethal…I presume that's what she must have used…"

"The question, of course," Tyrion reasoned, looking down at Robin with some curiosity. He began to pace slightly, as he always did when he was deep in thought. "Is _why_. Why would…Alyssa Stone, you say? Why would she do this? What did she possibly have to gain from murdering a boy she so often proclaimed to love?" He paused. "To be honest, it was Alyssa Stone who first convinced me that a marriage to the Vale was truly the right thing for the crown."

"I wonder…" Sam pondered, tipping the drops of dark liquid in the vial this way and that. He looked down at the puddle on the floor, pressing his lips together. "Assuming that the assailant used exactly the prescribed ten drops…exactly how much of the cup would one have to drink to achieve-"

"_Please._"

Brandon's voice was incredibly soft. But broke through the room like a thunderclap.

Silence fell. Then, with a desperate, anguished note to his monotone, he spoke again. He begged.

"Will someone get him up off the floor?"

Tyrion's heart ached. Despite all his years, all his trials, the tone of Brandon's grief still shook him to the core. As soon as Robin had fallen-a noiseless chaos had ensued. This was not merely a personal tragedy. This was turmoil for the realm.

Brienne of Tarth stepped forward, her eyes cast respectfully downward. "At once, Your Grace."

She was surprisingly tender, scooping Robin into her arms and carrying him like a child to the bed. Once there, she laid him out with careful respect, resting his head on the pillows and folding his hands over his chest. He looked beautiful, his lips still full, his cheeks still pink. He was so…lifelike. For all the world, he could have been simply sleeping.

The room observed the body of the young prince in silence for a long moment. Then-Brandon's sounded once more.

"Alyssa escaped through the dungeons, and took a rowboat out into the bay. She means to board a ship to the Vale. She must be prevented at once."

"Of course, Your Grace," Tyrion agreed, glad to have tangible instructions at such a shocking and clueless time. "Ser Brienne will send-"

"Your Grace!"

Suddenly, like a pipe bursting-the chamber door was thrown open. Podrick Payne sprinted inside, looking most concerned.

"Every man of the Vale in the capitol has deserted his post." he gabbled, his eyes very wide. "They have all left the city! I couldn't stop-" All at once, he came to a shuddering halt as the sight of Robin hit him. His mouth fell open. "By all the gods…is he-?"

"Speak of this to no one!" Brienne ordered him instantly. "Alert the Commander of the City Watch. Have the ports closed, and the borders held. Now!"

Instantly, Pod dashed away, slamming the door behind him. Then, Brienne turned back to her king, looking reassuringly confident.

"Don't worry, Your Grace. She won't get far."

Brandon did not look comforted in the least.

"Yes…" Tyrion narrowed his eyes. "I do not doubt that. But I must tell you now, Your Grace-as much as you and I know your Sight to be true, the phrase "I saw her poison him in a vision" will be difficult to uphold when she is tried for the prince's murder. It would be helpful if we had a piece of concreate evidence to-"

But Brandon simply held up his hand. At once, Tyrion stopped his tongue.

"Please," he repeated, his voice even mistier than usual. And hollow. Utterly hollow. "Leave me alone with him."

Tyrion did not need telling twice. With Samwell Tarly at his heels, he retreated from the chamber, and left the king to grieve in private. If, indeed, Brandon was capable of grief. Nonetheless...whether Brandon wanted to think about it or not, there was so much to do. A trial to curate, a funeral to organise, and then, of course...in the very near future, there would arise the delicate matter of finding a new consort.

Perhaps, Tyrion considered, it would be prudent to begin romancing Dorne once more...

* * *

What was the point?

What was the point of being the Three Eyed Raven, of being king, of being Brandon Stark, the most powerful person in the kingdoms, even in the whole of the known world…if he couldn't even protect those he loved?

There was no point at all. No reason. No nothing. Not anymore.

Brandon reached down, and turned the wheels of his chair, pushing himself forward until he reached the very edge of the bed. Then, he reached out, and took Robin's limp hand in both of his own.

He was still warm. Brandon looked down at the face of his husband, at the person who had drawn him out of himself, the person who had shown him that he could still love, that he could still be happy…now still. He would never see him smile at him again. He would never hear him laugh again. Never again would he wake up in his arms…

_I love you_.

Robin's final words to him played over and over again in him mind, tormenting him like circling vultures.

_I love you_.

For the sake of the gods, why hadn't he said it back?

Had Robin died, never knowing how much Brandon loved him?

But he _had_ died, all alone, on this cold stone floor, never knowing how he was loved. How much he had meant. How, in a chaotic universe, never resting, never ceasing, never making sense, he alone had given Brandon a reason to go on.

Brandon could say nothing. He could do nothing.

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Then another. And another. And another.

For the first time in years, for the first time in his new life…Brandon found that he was crying.

At that moment, another force entirely seemed to take over his body. That force was something he had thought he would never experience again. Something he thought himself beyond. That force…was humanity.

As a human, and nothing more-Brandon threw himself across Robin's chest, and sobbed his heart out.


	40. Ten Drops

**Hello everyone! As always, endless thanks for reading, and for reviewing, fave-ing, and following. I really do appreciate every one of you. **

**Ordinarily, I like to reply to every review with a thank you message, but for some reason, the system isn't letting me, so thank you all so, so much! Apologies xxx**

**I won't keep you a moment longer. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy! xxx**

* * *

The noise was like a lone wolf, howling in anguish at the restless sky.

Samwell Tarly couldn't bear to hear it. He stood outside Robin's chamber, equally unable to stay or leave, as he heard the sound of crying from the other side of the door. He had never heard, nor ever believed he would hear, Brandon the Broken cry. The fact that he was showing any human emotion at all was bad enough, without it being such a distressing outpouring of grief. To everyone's surprise, not least his own…it appeared that the strange young king had a heart after all. And that heart was broken.

As Grand Maester, he felt that it was wise to leave Brandon to mourn his husband. But, as a human being, he could not. Perhaps his heart was too gentle, but he simply could not leave someone alone when they made a sound like that. And so, against his better judgement-he pushed open Robin's door, and entered.

The sight that met his eyes was not one he would soon forget. Poor Robin lay quietly on the bed, his eyes closed, his body utterly still. The dregs of the poisoned wine still hung upon his lips, staining them reddish, in stark contrast to his pale skin. He made a very beautiful corpse, indeed. But Sam had seen more corpses than he cared to admit, and so was saddened, but not especially disturbed by its presence. It felt like a waste, more than anything. Robin was so young; he had so much left to give to the world…

It was Brandon that shocked him. His head buried in his arms, which clung helplessly onto Robin's chest, the young king howled.

After watching them in silence for a long moment, desperately wondering what he ought to say, Sam took a deep breath. He walked slowly over to Brandon, and placed a gentle hand between his shaking shoulder blades.

"Oh Bran…" he murmured, knowing that now was not the time for titles. "I'm so, so sorry…"

Brandon did not respond, or give any sign that he could hear him. However, he diminished into silent sobs, his tears already staining the front of Robin's clothes. Somehow, this new silence was even worse.

Sam sighed hard. "I wish I could tell you that you'll feel better." he murmured, rubbing slow circles on his back. "But you and I both know that's absolute bullshit. We've all lost far too many people we love…"

Once more, Brandon did not respond, so deep in grief was he. But he did not dismiss him either.

"People will say Robin was good." Sam continued, keeping his voice moderately bright. "No matter how he may have started off…they'll say he was kind…that he loved his people, and wanted the best for them…that he was hard-working, and righteous, and loving…and that he truly cared…That's all that's really important, in the end. That's how he'll be remembered."

Brandon appeared past comfort.

Sam sighed again. Then-he placed his hand carefully on Brandon's shoulder. "Do you know the best thing you can do for him now?"

No answer.

"Carry on," said Sam simply. "Just carry on. It's the hardest damn thing in the world to do, but you have to do it. I know you can do it. You're stronger than any one of us. Look at everything you've been through before now. You're not even twenty, and yet you've suffered more trials than even the hardiest of men suffer in a lifetime." He squeezed his shoulder. "I know you don't need me to tell you that. But sometimes, it helps to hear."

Brandon made a small, choking sound, as if his own tears were strangling him. Then, very fractionally, he raised his head. He turned, and looked straight ahead with huge, red eyes. Those eyes, so young, and yet so old, looked more lost than Sam had ever seen anyone look in his life. After so long spent working with Brandon, and hoping that he would show even the blindest bit of emotion, now that he did, Sam would have given anything for him to look cold and staring once again.

"That's it…" said Sam, trying to sound encouraging. "You can-"

"_He never knew_…"

Brandon's voice was no more than a whisper of wind.

Sam felt a terrible sinking feeling inside. "What?"

"All this time…" Brandon whispered, still staring blindly at the wall in front of him. His hands rested on Robin's chest, almost protectively, as if he was guarding him, preventing him from any further harm. "All these lives, playing out in my mind…everything that I know…and I couldn't save him…" His jaw tightened, and an expression of purest agony passed over his face. "I have failed. At being the Three Eyed Raven, at being king, at being his husband…I have failed at everything…"

"Don't say that!" Sam protested, shaking his head determinedly. "You haven't failed! You-!"

"If I hadn't failed." Brandon murmured limply. "Robin would still be alive." His hands knotted themselves into the material of Robin's shirt, so tightly that it must have hurt. "But he's not. He is gone…"

There was nothing Sam could say for the best. He pressed his lips together, choosing his words extremely carefully, before he spoke. "Your visions of the past and the present are absolute…but the future is always conditional. You cannot blame yourself for this. It is Alyssa Stone who poisoned him, not you. If you decide that Robin's death was your fault…you will never recover." He stiffened himself. "There is nothing you could have done. I _swear_. Robin's death is tragic, and horrible, and pointless. The whole bloody _world_ is tragic, and horrible, and pointless. But his blood is not on your hands…" He paused. "Bran, you-"

"_Quiet_."

Instantly-Sam stopped speaking. For, all of a sudden-it seemed that a kind of electricity had gripped the young king. His hands pressed hard into Robin's chest, and his eyes were as wide as the moon.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, leaning forward with concern.

Brandon was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes, and pressed down, feeling, sensing…Then-like an owl, his head snapped around to face Sam.

"Am I going mad?"

Sam did not quite know how to respond to this. He certainly looked it. "What do you mean?" he asked instead.

"_Feel_." All at once, he grabbed Samwell's hand, and pressed it to Robin's chest.

Gritting his teeth, Sam prepared to feel nothing but the silent stillness of death. Brandon's grief could easy have caused him to imagine that he felt…then…after a moment-Sam gasped out loud.

For, very softly, and rather slowly, underneath Robin's shirt, there was the faint, but certain, beating of his heart.

"By all the gods!" Sam cried out before he could stop himself. Instantly, he pressed his hand to Robin's nostrils, holding it there until-a few seconds later, he felt the smallest output of warm air against his palm.

Brandon looked on, hardly daring to believe it.

"But-but _how_?" Sam gaped at Robin, staring at his red-stained lips. "The Nightshade!"

Brandon did not look as if he cared in the slightest how it was that Robin continued, defiantly, to live. All he could do was grasp his hand firmly in both of his own.

Meanwhile, Sam straightened up, and stumbled deliriously over to the spilled pool of wine on the floor. "Ten drops…ten drops in a glass of wine…But there are so many variables…How much did he drink, how well was the poison combined into the solution…" He knelt down, and studied the pool as if it would give him the answers. "Three drops for sleep…ten for death…but what happens in between? One could never experiment with the quantities to observe the affects-it would be unethical. But-"

"What does this mean?" Brandon did not look up from his husband. However, his voice was filled with a desperate, clinging sort of hope.

"I…" Sam racked his brains, trying to recall every book he had ever read on poisons. "I…don't know!" Then-full of a new energy, he turned back to the king. "I can't make any promises. I can't tell you he's going to wake up. He may not wake up at all, and you have to be prepared for that."

"But he _might_?"

Sam pursed his lips. "I don't know when. I don't know anything at all. But…" He shrugged, daring to let the slightest glimmer of hope shine on his own face. "I suppose he might."

That was all Brandon needed to know. He made a long, moaning sound, sounding almost wolf-like once more. Then-he leaned down, still clutching Robin's hand, and began to whisper fervently into his ear.

Sam took a deep breath, stretching his arms high into the air. He felt almost like laughing. It was as if the biggest weight in the world had just lifted from his shoulders, setting him free. And if _he_ felt like that-he couldn't imagine how Brandon must be feeling.

"I'll inform the Hand, Your Grace." he said, his voice slipping quickly back into normality. Brandon merely nodded without looking at him, continuing his passionate, inaudiable whispering. He would not be moved from Robin's side. And so, feeling considerably more cheerful than he had felt in a long time, Sam left the royal apartments in relatively high spirits. A life may yet be saved…

* * *

"_I'm here…Robin, if you can hear me…I'm here. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I promise you this: I'm not going to leave you. I shan't fly East. I shan't fly anywhere. Not until you return to me. I'm here, I'll never leave again, I swear…and I love you. I'm sorry I never told you…I ought to have told you, every time I had the chance…but you know now. I have always loved you…and I will love you, from this day, until the end of my days..."_


	41. Silence

**Hello! Thank you all endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! You're all fantastic. I'm glad you're all relieved hope isn't yet lost for Robin! It's a heck of a lot of fun to write this! So thank you all, and more tomorrow xxx**

* * *

Alyssa Stone was drenched to the skin. She was exhausted, dehydrated, and almost too weak to stand by the time her boat washed close to the shore. Summoning the last of her might, she began to row desperately towards the sandy beach beyond. Tasting nothing but saltwater, she closed her eyes, concentrating only on propelling herself forward. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest, but she tried to lift herself above the pain, focusing only on the promise of dry land. _Forward, and back_…_forward and back…forward and back_…

Then, seemingly centuries later-she gasped in shock as the bottom of her boat became lodged in wet sand. As she tore her eyes open, waves crashed around her, breaking into white caps on the shoreline. And, less than a moment later-she felt strong arms lifting her up and out.

"You made it, my lady." came the low voice of the Vale knight. "You're safe."

Alyssa allowed herself to feel relief for less than a moment, as the knight carried her out of the shallows and set her down. She had escaped…against desperate odds, she had made it out of the capitol…

As soon as she had pushed her boat out of the little cove beneath the Red Keep into Blackwater Bay, she had heard the sound of the city's great bells ringing. Bells never meant something good, and they vibrated in her ears as she pulled her cloak low over her face. She guided her little boat out into the water, rowing harder than she had believed herself capable of, fleeing the city. If a single person had seen her, her head would have joined Ser Stefan's in the basket in the flap of a wing…

But no. She had come through. She had rowed for a day and a night, exhausted and gasping for breath…but the wind had been on her side. She had flown to the agreed place in the grace of the gods, and now, she was among friends.

The moment Alyssa found her feet, digging them gratefully into the sand…she forced her aching back to stand upright. As the Vale knight who had carried her removed his own cloak and threw it around her shivering shoulders, she surveyed the sight that awaited her on the beach.

Standing to attention before her on the stand, almost two thousand men, bearing the Arryn sigil on their shields, waited for her command. They looked like an enormous flock of birds, gathered on the sand in perfect formation. Alyssa almost lost her breath again at the sight of them. She glanced quickly at the familiar falcon each man bore, raising an eyebrow. _That_ would have to be changed. But for now…well. They would do.

Alyssa marched forward, a burst of adrenaline filling her to the brim. Trying not to stagger from exhaustion, she approached another knight of the Vale, who held a stunning black mare ready for her. The moment she reached the horse, he helped her into the saddle. Then, as soon as she was seated, she gripped the reins in her numb hands, and pushed the animal on.

"Follow me," she called to her men, her voice echoing over the empty beach. "And the Kingdom of the Vale will stand for ten thousand winters!"

* * *

_Lord Royce,_

_Your bastard is a traitor to the realm. For the attempted murder of her liege lord and the consort to the throne, Prince Robert of House Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale, she must stand trial in the Sept of Baelor. If you do not return Alyssa Stone to the custody of the crown, you too will be named a traitor, and your house will be destroyed root and steam. _

_Signed, Brandon of House Stark, King of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. _

"…I'm not sure you needed to add the bit about _destroying House Royce root and steam_." Tyrion offered as he looked over the raven scroll. "We are not trying to start a war-and it is disturbingly reminiscent of my sister…"

"Send the scroll exactly as it is." said Brandon quietly, without looking at him. "Send it at once."

Tyrion merely nodded, pocketing the scroll with some discomfort. Indeed, it was almost impossible to feel comfortable in the room that was currently serving as the new Small Council chamber.

Robin's chamber was virtually unrecognisable. What had been merely a royal bedroom had become the centre of all activity within the Red Keep. The moment there had been the slightest hope that the prince may live, the king appeared to have made some kind of vow never to leave his side. And this, he had done almost without exception. Brandon sat by the head of the bed, watching over his husband, guarding him like a bird in a nest. Robin himself lay still, now washed and dressed in his customary shades of grey and blue. It had been two days, and he had yet to show a single sign of life. His eyelids did not so much as flutter as he dreamed.

As upsetting as the fate of the young prince was, his sleeping form made an interesting addition to the Small Council. Chairs had sprung up around the bed, and each was occupied by a member of the council, all trying to carry out as ordinary a meeting as possible, while trying to avoid looking at Robin, lying in their midst like a corpse in state.

"The gates are really starting to be a problem." Bronn murmured, looking determinedly at the wall opposite, his arms folded across his chest. "Can't get nothing through them. We're going to have to move all that crap sooner or later."

Again, without lifting his eyes even a fraction, Brandon responded in monotone. "Everything stays."

Tyrion covered his mouth to mask a sigh. It was quite touching, really. Word of Robin's…illness, shall we say…had spread like wildfire. Within a few _hours_, he had spotted wildflowers tied to the castle gates. Then came more flowers, bunches of wilting vegetation building up, and causing quite a blockage to the comings and goings of the Keep. Then came candles, flames flickering in the wind, melting into waxy puddles on the cobblestones. It had been some poor squire's job to go around putting them out, so as not to cause a fire hazard, but somehow, every time more flowers and candles appeared, they were relit. After the first day, the squire had stopped bothering.

Tyrion had been moved by this display of affection by the common people for their prince. He had been down himself to look at the makeshift tribute to the beloved prince, whose life hung in the balance. There had even been a few tattered ragdolls lolling against the gates, left presumably by children to guard the prince who had fed and clothed them. Tyrion couldn't imagine being so adored by so many, the darling of the smallfolk…no matter all the good he did, no matter how many lives he saved, the world always turned a cold shoulder to him…

"The king is right," he said, swallowing the longing in his tone. "Let them stay. They're good for morale."

Perhaps the generosity of the people would be some small comfort to Brandon if Robin slipped away…and frankly, as Tyrion regarded the lifeless sleeping prince, his skin pale, his eyes closed, that looked more likely by the hour.

_Maybe a week at the most_… Grand Maester Tarly had whispered to him in confidence. _If he's not woken by then…I don't think he will_…

No one had said as much to the king, but he heard every whisper. It was no wonder that he had made sure Robin was washed and dressed, as if he might wake at any moment…no wonder that he scarcely took his eyes off him, watching and waiting for the slightest twitch…The clock was ticking for Prince Robin, and though no one spoke of it, everyone in the Small Council knew. It was the elephant…or the corpse…in the room.

Tyrion narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked at Robin's sleeping face, so untroubled by the turmoil his poisoning had caused, so oblivious to the hole he had left behind…_Wake up, you little brat…wake up_…

* * *

It was long past midnight, and Brandon had not moved. He had sent away every squire, every meal, every offer of wine. His eyes itched with tiredness, and he could scarcely keep his head up. But he sat, in the moonlight, gazing down at Robin, watching, waiting, hoping, praying…

"Everything is so quiet without you…" he whispered, resting his hand on Robin's forehead. "You do all the talking. Not me."

The prospect of Robin's silence being eternal was not one he was ever prepared to consider again.

But still, only silence followed. Brandon sighed, his fingers buried in Robin's hair. It felt warm and soft, as it always did. He recalled perfectly the first night they had shared the same bed…how he had stroked Robin's hair, so smooth and floppy and comforting, until he had fallen asleep…then, of course, he had woken to find Robin snuggled up in his arms…that, that wondrous morning, had been among the greatest moments of his life…

Then, with his new resolution to communicate his feelings fresh in his mind, he took Robin's hand tenderly in his own, and expressed those sentiments out loud.


	42. The Watch

**Hello all! Just a quick thank you-I won't keep you long! Thank you for reading and reviewing-it means the world. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy this! xxx**

* * *

Six days. Six days, thirteen hours, and twelve excruciating minutes.

Brandon had not said a word. In fact, he had not spoken at all for the last forty-eight hours. He had simply sat in a silent vigil over his husband. Gradually, his watch had become less devotional, and more desperate. Inevitably, he fell asleep periodically in his chair, upright with his head lolling forward. But most of the time, he simply watched. Sometime around supper time, which Brandon had refused, one of his squires had sworn he had seen tears coursing down his king's cheeks.

When Robin had first fallen, he had made a beautiful "corpse", pink-cheeked and perfect. But now, he had grown deathly pale. Dark shadows had appeared beneath his eyes, and his breathing was slow and frail. By those who came and went from the room, most often Samwell Tarly, Brandon had often been seen pressing his hands to Robin's chest, feeling frantically for a heartbeat to ensure his beloved continued to cling to life.

It was after midnight on the sixth day when Sam returned to check on the situation. He was exhausted himself from searching-every text on poisons in the Keep had been consulted, ravens had been sent to the Citadel for help, and Sam had left no stone unturned in the search for information on the prince's condition. And yet, there was nothing. Six days of reading into the small hours for no benefit. And Robin's prospects continued to decline.

The sight that met Sam's eyes when he opened the door of the royal chamber was not quite as harrowing as witnessing the king sobbing into what he believed to be his deceased husband. But it was almost as heart-breaking. Robin lay, unmoving and sickly. One had to study him most carefully to notice the millimetre of rise and fall of his belly as he breathed. For all the world, he looked lost.

Beside him, Brandon sat by like a sentinel at his post. His own purple-ringed eyes were wide open, but he did not seem to register Sam's entrance at all. He gripped Robin's limp hand in both of his own, staring down at him as if he could bring him around with sheer willpower.

Sam masked a sigh, his heart aching for the young king. He could not begin to imagine what it would feel like to lose Gilly…the very thought of it turned him cold to his bones.

There was nothing to be done. Very soon, Brandon's watch would end. And six kingdoms could not fill the hole that Robin would leave behind...

* * *

_The Eyrie_

* * *

"_Girl!" _

Alyssa Stone smiled down from her place on the Weirwood throne, lounging on the seat as if she had occupied it since birth. "Good afternoon, Father." she said, her tone the model of ease.

"Have you gone mad?" Yohn Royce bellowed, red in the face. His voice boomed all around the High Hall, echoing off every wall and resonating up into the rafters. A head taller than most other men, despite his advanced years, he still cut an impressive figure-especially when he was so enraged. In one enormous hand, he held up a raven scroll. "Are you trying to start a war? What in all the seven hells is the meaning of this?"

Alyssa was unmoved by her father's fury. "I would have thought you'd be pleased, Father. You have said since the day Robin was born, the sickly little thing, that he was too weak to hold the Vale."

"Poisoning the consort to the crown?" Royce thundered, hardly believing the words that poured from his mouth. "Lord Paramount of the Vale? _Jon Arryn's son_?"

"Do not appeal to my loyalty to Jon Arryn." Alyssa replied smoothly. "Robin was no more like his father than I am like the Mountain."

"I care not what you think of the boy!" Royce was beyond anger now. His face was positively purple. "I care about the future of our house, the future of the Vale! And you have just thrown that future into disarray!"

"On the contrary, Father." Alyssa leaned her elbow upon the armrest of the throne. "I have just secured it."

Royce made a noise like an angry bull. "You think you're so clever, don't you? I met a clever man once in this hall…A man who scampered this way and that, singing his songs and weaving his lies…A man who was quick with poisons-it always was the weapon of cravens and cowards! A man who wormed his way into lordship over this kingdom by manipulation and murder!" He paused, breathing hard. "And now, Petyr Baelish is dead. Rightfully executed by the sisters of the very wolf-king you have just made an enemy!"

Alyssa took a deep breath, in, and then out. She regarded her father with eyes that almost spoke of pity. "He is more raven than wolf." she shot back in defiance.

"Don't get smart with me, girl!" Royce shouted. He held up the raven scroll once again, unfolding it to show the spiky handwriting of Brandon Stark. "You have been summoned to the capitol to stand trial for your crimes against the crown! If they only take your head, you should count yourself lucky!"

Alyssa did not look troubled in the slightest by this revelation. Instead, she merely sneered. Then, she delivered the line she had been holding back ever since her father had stormed into the High Hall: "The Vale no longer recognises the authority of the crown."

At first, Royce opened his mouth, as if to continue. Then…as Alyssa's words sunk in, it hung in shock.

"Alyssa…" he murmured, his voice dangerously quiet. "Are you suggesting…that you have declared the Vale of Arryn in open rebellion?"

"Of course I am." Alyssa got to her feet, taking a few steps forward. Below her, the Moon Door gaped open ominously. "It is what we have always wanted. The Vale, standing alone, as an independent kingdom once more…" Her eyes glittered as she spoke, as if she could almost see it. "Once the North broke away, I knew it was our chance. Our house shall be Kings and Queens in the Vale, and we shall sit on the Weirwood throne for ten thousand winters to come…"

As she spoke, slowly, Royce's skin turned from purple to chalk-white.

"Now that Robin is dead, I have seized power in the Eyrie…." Alyssa continued, her eyes aflame. "I have two thousand knights at my command. Very soon, I will have myself crowned queen, and we will bow no more to the Iron Throne."

But old Royce had heard enough. He shook his head several times, as if certain he must be dreaming. Then, practically quaking with wrath, he spoke once more in a voice that was scarcely above a whisper.

"You have been summoned to the Sept of Baelor to answer for the _attempted_ murder of Prince Robin."

It took Alyssa several seconds to understand what had just been said. And when she comprehended it…for the first time, the slightest shadow of doubt crossed her face.

"Robin survives?"

Royce pursed his lips, standing upright. "He is unresponsive, but by the last reports, he endures. It appears that my old ward is tougher than any of us gave him credit for."

Alyssa fell silent. Her eyes were as wide as the sky.

"I tell you now, girl…" Royce took several steps forward, his face set. "I am loyal to Jon Arryn, and to the crown. If you mean to start a war, then I wash my hands of you. I will not have House Royce destroyed root and steam for the sake of an up-jumped bastard girl with her head in the clouds!"

"I mean to start a war…" Alyssa hissed, as venomous as the Nightshade. "I mean to win the war. And when I do…you can come crawling back to me on your knees."

Royce had nothing more to say to his daughter. For a moment, he simply glared up at her in disbelief. "To think, I once thought you the greatest blessing of my life…but now, I would fall upon my sword before I kneel to you..."

And, with that, he marched out of the High Hall.

* * *

_The Red Keep. Past midnight._

* * *

"_Please don't leave me, Robin…Please don't leave me_…"


	43. Tears

**Hello! I promise I won't keep you! Just a quick thank you for reading, and for fave-ing, following and reviewing. More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

"_Please don't leave me_…"

To have lived with dampened emotions for so long made Brandon's reaction to Robin's attempted murder all the more unbearable. He was the Three Eyed Raven; he had no need of such human trivialities as feelings. Besides, if he had experienced the Night King and the possible end of days with anything less than cold indifference, there was no way Bran Stark could have coped. The Three Eyed Raven, certainly. But not Bran. It was as if the flood gates he had kept firmly closed for so long had not only opened-they had been torn to shreds.

How was one even supposed to react to the unimaginable? Brandon had no idea. Should he scream and shout? Should he weep? There were no answers. But, as he sat by his bedside, pleading not only to the Old Gods but any gods that might listen, he knew in his heart that Robin was slipping away by the hour.

And there was nothing he could do. He was the Three Eyed Raven, and the king, and yet, nothing in his power could do anything to help the person he loved.

There was simply nothing left.

Brandon watched Robin breathe for a while; tiny, ragged little breaths, each laborious. He counted each eyelash that lay folded and unmoving, each detail of his face. Robin's skin had grown pale and waxy, his eyes blackened, his cheeks sunken. Brandon recalled the moment Robin had first entered the throne room at the Red Keep, when their betrothal was still merely an idea. He had been a spoiled child then, selfish, arrogant, and ignorant of the world. But he had been so _alive_, his very face shining with potential. Now, in so short a space of time, Robin had blossomed into a true prince, and had achieved so much good. How much more good could he have achieved, if Brandon could have protected him? Now…that face was almost corpse-like.

Perhaps it was already too late. That shine…everything that made Robin _Robin_…was already gone.

The very thought of it shot straight to Brandon's heart in an icy spear of dread. Losing Robin was a calamity that seemed far greater than any endless night. In that moment, Brandon knew he would give his kingdom, his powers, his own life, if only it could save Robin. If only he could have one more moment with him, to tell him everything, to hold him once more, even only to say goodbye.

All this time, he had sat here, begging Robin not to go, begging him to cling to life. Maybe he was wasting that moment right this second.

Brandon steeled himself. The very idea of it sent tears springing to his eyes, ice clogging his throat. Every fibre of his being screamed in protest. But he had to do this. When he was Bran Stark, he would have given anything to say goodbye properly to everyone he had lost before…his father…his mother…Robb…Rickon…Now, he had a chance to do this one final, terrible thing, for his husband. It was hell. But he knew, if he did not do it while he had the chance, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Carefully, as if handling something priceless, he took Robin's hand in both of his own. Then, he leaned down, and pressed his lips close to Robin's ear. After a moment, as the ice in his throat threatened to strangle him…he managed to speak.

"_I'm so sorry, Robin_…" he began, choked by his own tears. "_I'm so sorry…It is difficult for me to say this, because I love you…"_ He took a deep breath, before forcing himself to continue. "_And I want you here, with me, always_. _But I want you to know that…you can let go_." Once more, tears spilled down his cheeks in a flood of hopelessness. "_If you need to…you can let go._ _It's alright, my love. I'm here. I'm holding your hand…" _

From the outside world, he could hear nothing at all. It was as if the earth had stopped.

"_It's alright_…" Brandon gripped his hand tighter, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and trying desperately to sound comforting. "_Nothing can hurt you anymore. You're safe…and you are so loved. I...I never thought I would ever love again. I didn't think I was even capable. But you…You were the best of all my life…" _

He kissed his head a final time, tears spilling into his hair. "_So…goodbye, my love..._" he whispered, the word physically torturing him to form. "_Goodbye_."

And so, with absolution-and no absolution at all-he held Robin's hand , and continued his watch through a veil of tears.

* * *

It happened very slowly. Then…it happened all at once.

Long past midnight, in the silent world…there was the slightest twitch.

Then, there was a breath. A breath deep enough that it stirred the grieving king.

Finally…there was a flutter of eyelids.

It was as if a bolt of lightening had his Brandon. His head snapped up, his hand gripping Robin's like a vice. Was he dreaming? He hardly dared to believe his eyes…

Robin had stirred.

"Robin?"

Brandon's heart was thumping so loudly he could hear it in his ears. His hands turned cold and clammy, his entire body shaking as he searched the face of his husband for another sign of life.

"Robin?"

Once more-Robin's eyes twitched.

Then, wondrously, from between his lips, there came the most beautiful sound that Brandon had ever heard. More beautiful than dragon song. More beautiful than anything in the world.

"_Urrrghh_…"

"Robin!" Brandon cried, his voice leaping from his throat in a way it had not done so for many years. "You-you're-you're alive! You're-"

But Robin was still waking up. After a week's sleeping, his body seemed to be taking an age to come around. He squeezed his eyelids shut, pressing his lips together as if the process pained him. All the while, Brandon watched in disbelief, his heart racing fit to burst. Could it be that Robin was truly alive?

Finally, after a long moment of silence…Robin's lips parted once again, and croaked a single word.

"…Mother?"

Brandon did a double take at the word. Then, utterly jublient, but slightly uncomfortable, he shook his head vehemently. Oh Gods. Had Robin's mind been damaged by the poison? "No. No, it's _me_. It's Bran."

A few seconds of silence. Then, at long last…very weakly, Robin managed to force his eyes open. Their beautiful brown colour was more stunning to Brandon than the first dawn. He looked up at the ceiling, the canopy above his head, as if struggling to believe it was real. Then, finally, his gaze swivelled to Brandon. His eyes were wide as the moon, and filled with fear, reeling from the fright of the poison. But, after a moment of struggling to come to terms with his own awakening, he looked straight at his husband, and whispered:

"…_Darling_…"

Brandon could not remember, even as Bran Stark, ever feeling so happy as he did at that moment. The love of his life had returned to him. He had clawed his way back from the jaws of death, and he was alive, and he was _beautiful,_ so beautiful, and he was-

A moment later-Robin was vomiting violently over the side of the bed.


	44. The War to Come

**Hello everyone! I'm so sorry for not posting yesterday! I was super ill. Thank you so much for bearing with me. We're really getting to the crunch now...thank you as always for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! More tomorrow, promise! xxx**

* * *

"Drink." Brandon insisted, holding out a cup towards Robin. "Little and often, that's what Tarly said. You must drink."

Robin's head was still swimming. He lay back weakly on the pillows, propped up as much as possible to allow him to take the requisite sips of water prescribed by the Grand Maester. Considering he had just slept for a week, he felt as though he had not laid down his head in years. Still, as he looked blearily at his husband, he found the strength to raise his hand and take the cup. "Thank you." He sipped quietly, finding his stomach still threatened to disagree with even plain water. Once he had finished, he turned to Brandon once more, anguish filling his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Neither Brandon's face or tone showed the slightest hint of alteration, but the words were warm. "You have no need of such apologies."

"But I do…" Robin murmured, setting the cup down on the bedside cabinet. "I was foolish. Since Stefan, I should have been on my guard. But _Alyssa_…" He sighed, consumed with agony. "By all the gods…I trusted her. I trusted her with my life…" He covered his mouth with his hands to mask the small dry sob that escaped him. It was unbearable for him even to _think_ of it, let alone speak of it. "Why would she do such a thing?"

Brandon was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, the slightest hint of grief weighed heavy on his voice. "It is I who should apologise. I could not protect you."

"Please." Robin reached out his hand, and placed it carefully on Brandon's cheek. "_Don't_."

There was no indication that Brandon felt comforted by this; however, even if he was, he would likely have shown no physical sign at all. Instead, he merely reached up, took Robin's hand, and laid it down on the bedsheets. "Do not expend your energy needlessly. You are still very delicate."

Robin could not help but feel touched by Brandon's caring for him, even if it was a little too much. He doubted raising his hand slightly would really make any difference, but he appreciated the thought. With a small smile, he threaded his fingers through Brandon's, hungry for the comfort of touch. "I have been called "delicate" since I can remember. And yet, I survived two attempts on my life in the space of a week. Who can truly argue that I am fragile now?"

"That is irrelevant." Brandon said flatly. If he had understood the joke, he did not acknowledge it. "You almost died. You must focus on regaining your strength."

At this, Robin could not help but smirk. How peculiar it was to have one such as Brandon the Broken fussing over him like a hen and treating him as if he were made of glass. Strange times, indeed….Still, he felt a shiver pass over him. "How awful it is to think of dying. If I had not lived, I would have left so much unfinished. There are so many things I want to do, so much I want to see, and to achieve. The thought that I came so close to not being able to do any of it is _horrible_."

"But you lived." said Brandon. "There is no need to consider the alternative."

"It's just given me a lot to think about…" Robin said, feeling a sudden burst of energy. "What if something like this happens again, and I do not survive? I would have had so many regrets…"

"But you lived." Brandon repeated, slightly more forcefully. "And nothing like this _is_ ever going to happen again." He paused, something like pain flashing in his eyes. "The very idea that you may be harmed again is not an eventuality I am prepared to consider. Please stop talking about it."

It was rather overwhelming for Robin to hear this; such intensity of emotion was not something he had ever come to expect from his husband, and it was quite intoxicating. However, it was so funny to hear such words spoken in Brandon's voice, with such absolute indifference, as if he was simply talking about the weather. Now, Robin found himself even prepared to giggle. "You love me really, don't you?"

"Of course I love you."

Brandon's frank honesty was almost ingenuous. Once more, the joke appeared lost on him, but Robin couldn't have cared less. To hear the words spoken aloud by Brandon was more than he had ever hoped for. As soon as he heard them, it was as if a warm blanket had been wrapped around his heart. In amongst all of the terrible things that had befallen him…Stefan…_Alyssa_…he felt as though he could cry.

"I hope you understand…." he murmured, trying not to sound choked. "how much that means to me. I know this is difficult for you, but-"

But Brandon had cut him off. "I would have had regrets too. Many regrets. Regrets I could not have lived with." He covered their clasped hands with his other. "You are the best thing in my life, Robin. Without you…everything would be grey. And I mean to do better by you."

Robin was almost speechless. Once more, he felt smothered in the best possible way. All he could do was lift himself off the pillows, lean forward, and-

"You are supposed to be resting." said Brandon as he drew closer.

"Are you actually going to stop me?"

"I know that I ought to, but somehow…I can't." The last syllable had scarcely left his lips before Robin kissed him.

"By the gods, I missed you…" Robin whispered when the kiss broke, cradling Brandon's face in his hands. "And I am not sure what you mean by "do better", but by all means, do as it would please you."

"You cannot know how you were missed." Brandon replied monotonously. He paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes. "I was unsure, when you were sleeping, how much you were aware of your surroundings. The nature of your condition was so unusual. I thought, perhaps…" He paused again, looking suddenly rather nervous. "I wondered whether you might have been able to hear?"

Robin shook his head. "No. Not a thing." He tilted his head to one side, eyeing Brandon suspiciously. "Why? Did you talk to me?"

Now, the shadow of something which must once have been embarrassment crossed Brandon's face. "A little." he answered, bound by the truth.

"_Did_ you?" Robin could do nothing but kiss him again. "Really? That is so sweet! What did you_ say_?"

Brandon looked more uncomfortable by the moment. "Many things." he answered vaguely.

"Darling, I am _really _going to need specifics-!"

"Look," Brandon looked him directly in the eyes, stopping his mouth once more. "I am not sure whether you are deliberately avoiding the subject of Alyssa. But there is something you need to know."

Robin's stomach swirled with dread. "What?"

Brandon chose his words extremely carefully. "I promised I would never keep anything from you again, even if it means you must hear horrible truths. Even if I think not telling you would protect you. But I want you to hear this from me." He took a deep breath, before he continued. "Alyssa has seized the Eyrie."

As he took in this news, Robin wished that he was more surprised. He felt a distinctive sinking feeling inside, as he imagined Alyssa sitting up on the Weirwood throne, in _his _place... "Oh…" he whispered. He tried to sound professional and indifferent, but he could not help his voice trembling. "_That _is why she poisoned me…I just…" He felt tears springing to his eyes. "I just can't believe it! I thought she loved me! But now, I feel that she has raised me like a lamb for slaughter. Everything she ever told me feels like a lie…"

"Perhaps it was." Brandon was never one to mince his words. But he squeezed his hands.

"How terrible this is…" Robin murmured, blinking hard. He was completely overcome. Still, remembering that he was a prince-he steeled himself. "Well. There is only one thing we can do now." He nodded stiffly, determination filling every inch of him. "We must take my kingdom back."

"Yes." Brandon spoke more passionately than Robin had ever heard him before. "I would see Westeros fall into the sea before I would see a tyrannical traitor rule over my people. Especially one who has harmed you. I swear to you, my love, I will not rest until she is defeated."

"Oh Bran…" Robin threw his arms around him, burying his face in his shoulder. "I love you so much."

"As I love you…" Brandon whispered into Robin's hair, closing his eyes. He gave a small sigh. "I fear that you and I must travel North once more...I hoped that I would never see another war, as long as I lived. It is the worst of humanity...However," Very gently, he pushed Robin back onto the pillows, settling him down. "First, you must get well. You are going to need all your strength for everything that is to come...Now-_drink_."


	45. Strategy

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have followed, fave-d, and reviewed! I really appreciate every last one of you. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy this! xxx**

* * *

If there was one truly great thing to come out of Prince Robin's recovery, it was that the days of the Small Council meetings being held around his sickbed were numbered. Tyrion had never been comfortable with such a location; not only did it feel intrusive and awkward, but it was hardly the most professional scenario. He dearly missed sitting around a table to meet, and could not wait to return to the usual chamber. However, as the prince was still on bed rest, for the time being, he remained stuck.

"Alyssa Stone has had herself crowned in the Eyrie," Brandon was saying. His tone betrayed no sign of emotion, but if one knew him as well as Tyrion liked to think he did, one could sense his anger and discomfort. "She has declared the Vale an independent kingdom, and herself queen."

"Well, it was always only going to be a matter of time," Tyrion said. "Since the North broke away, one of the other kingdoms was always going to follow suit. Try their luck at going it alone. I rather thought it would be Dorne…That was one of the reasons why I was so keen on a Dornish match."

"What I don't understand," Samwell Tarly cut in. "is why the Vale was so quick to turn its back on His Grace the Prince and House Arryn, to follow a bastard girl into rebellion?"

Tyrion merely raised an eyebrow. "Alyssa is extremely clever, and very charismatic. A lethal combination in the right hands. I do not think it would have been difficult for her to garner a following, especially after the North showed us that independence is not only an idea, but a possibility. Still, it would seem that most of the greater houses of the Vale have already turned their backs on her. Her own father has disowned her."

"But she has the Eyrie." Brienne of Tarth said. "An impregnable fortress. And almost two thousand men at her command."

From the corner of the room, there was a dismissive snort. "Give me ten good men and some climbing spikes." Bronn drawled under his breath. "I'll impregnate the bitch."

At this shared memory, Tyrion had to hide a smile. It seemed impossible to believe that life had once been so simple…

"_Still_." Brienne continued, pretending that Bronn had not spoken at all. "Even with our numbers, attacking the Eyrie outright would be foolhardy. Alyssa will be counting on this advantage. She will never meet us on the field."

"Ser Brienne is right," Robin piped up suddenly. He sat upright in bed in the centre of the circle, propped up on a small pile of pillows. He was beginning to return to his old self, his cheeks not so sunken, his eyes not so blackened, but his skin was still rather pale, his eyes wide and staring. Nonetheless, he spoke clearly. "The Eyrie is invincible. Mother used to say it was the safest place in the world."

Tyrion pressed his lips together, biting back the sarcastic comment about Lysa Arryn and her beliefs that threatened to climb out of his mouth. "Perhaps it does not need to come to bloodshed." he said instead, keeping his voice level. "We need Alyssa Stone to realise what a mistake she has made. She has no allies. If we have each of the great houses of Westeros call up their banners and march upon the Vale, she may be forced to surrender." He paused. "It would be difficult to siege the Eyrie, but are other ways to force her out. We could poison their wells and the rivers. Once her water stores run out, she will have no choice but to-"

"You will do no such thing!" Robin snapped, looking stricken. "The people of the Vale are still my people. I will not see them suffer for Alyssa's crimes."

"Your Grace, we are trying to minimize bloodshed as it is-"

"The prince is right." Brandon said, making it clear in his tone that there was no room for debate. "The common people have suffered enough under the games of the highborn. No such acts will be undertaken."

At this, Tyrion had to suppress a roll of the eyes. It was becoming a recurring theme in Small Council meetings; whatever Robin suggested, no matter what it was, the king would agree with him, and the motion would carry. Politically, in another situation, this could have been extremely dangerous-it was fortunate, really, that the prince's agenda was well-intentioned. Men spent years of their lives trying to achieve the kind of power over a monarch that Robin Arryn seemed to have harnessed with a mere smile. It was most curious to behold; the unshakeable Brandon the Broken, despite his cold objectivism, seemed utterly incapable of saying no to Robin.

"Do you know," said Tyrion thoughtfully. "I think the more a person says a place is impregnable, the more it will be believed…"

"Yes." Sam agreed, nodding earnestly. "I was going to say exactly the same thing. It's a psychological phenomenon as much as anything else."

"And I think some of the Eyrie's natural defences could, in the _right_ circumstances, be used against it…" Tyrion leaned forward, looking straight at the king. "If His Grace follows my train of thought…?"

Brandon did not say a word-but he gave a curt nod.

"Excellent," Tyrion felt marginally more confident. "We shall call the banners. On that subject, Your Grace…" He paused, approaching the matter as delicately as possible. "I was going to ask you whether you had considered contacting the Queen in the North. Her forces could be invaluable to us for this mission-"

"_No_." Forced to speak, Brandon shook his head firmly. "The North is an independent kingdom now. Our problems are not theirs. I shall not trouble Sansa."

"She is still your sister," Tyrion reminded him. "Don't you think she may _want_ to be troubled, if it meant helping you?"

"I will not ask the Northmen to defend what is not theirs, and has nothing to do with them." Brandon was absolute. "That is exactly what they always fought for."

Knowing from experience when to back off, Tyrion accepted his defeat gracefully. Still, there was a part of him that had to exhaust all avenues before he marched upon the Vale at a clear disadvantage… "Very well, Your Grace. However, if we march upon the Vale, I do believe Alyssa Stone ought to be given the opportunity to negotiate her surrender. If I could simply talk to her, I am certain I could-"

"Yes. I'm sure your silver tongue could persuade most men of anything." Brandon's eyes snapped coldly to his Hand. "But it is rather fruitless to extend such a privilege to Alyssa Stone. She has no grounds for compromise. Her choices are to stand her ground, be captured, and then executed as a rebel and a traitor, or to surrender, and be executed for her crimes against the crown. There is no way she will emerge from this alive. What good would negotiation do her?" He paused. "I am not inclined to grant courtesies to the person who almost killed Robin."

There was a short silence. No one in the room had ever heard Brandon talk so much at once, nor quite so fiercely. During the quietness, Tyrion saw Robin shoot a glowing and grateful glance at his husband, which went unacknowledged. Unmoving, Brandon merely regarded Tyrion with his habitual icy stare, as if staking him out.

"Well." Tyrion said quietly. "When you put it like that…" He leaned back, and sighed. "And so we march upon the Eyrie…one of the best-defended castles in the kingdoms, against a clever woman with a home advantage…" He caught Bronn's eye, and grimaced. "Well. I suppose we have fought against worse odds, and won."

"I trust no one more than you, Lord Hand," Brandon said, his misty tones returning. "I have absolute faith in your strategies. There is no one better."

It was strange, sometimes, working with Brandon. His debates against Tyrion were never personal; until recently, Tyrion had doubted whether he was indeed capable of _anything_ personal. Therefore, he knew that such a ringing indorsement to end a parade of opposition was genuine. He could not help but give the young king a small, sad smile, before bracing himself for all that was to come.

"In that case, Your Grace…" he said, gravely. "We have a rebellion to thwart."


	46. The Stormlands

**Hello everyone! Thank you so very much for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed and reviewed! I really appreciate every single one of you, and I can't wait for you to read the rest of this! **

**On another note, I forgot to say yesterday-thank you for the well-wishes after I was sick! You guys are so kind. I'm getting better! It's nice to have something like this to focus on when I can't do much else, hahaha! More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

"It is a curious position we have forced the realm into…" Tyrion mused, toying with his drained wine cup. "An elected king…an independent North…Were any of us truly surprised when rebellion reared its head? Frankly, I am astonished it took as long as it did…"

"I have to agree with you there, Lord Hand," Sam said from across the table, rather gravely."I only wish there was another way."

Tyrion's eyes grew wide for a moment, before closing completely, as if he had a headache. He leaned his elbows on the pages of plans and strategy they had been working on, and cast his mind into the past. "_Another way_…What any one of us wouldn't give for _another way_, at any moment in history…I wonder how many of the great tragedies we could have prevented, but for _another way_."

"Well…" Sam folded his arms. "When you put it that way, it sounds terrible, yes. But how many _good_ things would never have happened, were it not for a twist of fate?"

Tyrion opened one eye, and shot a very sharp glance at the grand maester. "I am certain the bad almost always outweighs the good…in this country, anyway."

Before Sam could formulate a response, the door had creaked open, followed by the sound of wooden wheels on stone. Brandon appeared in the room like a black cloud, pushed by a tired-looking Podrick Payne. His expression was, as always, unreadable, however, it meant nothing but business.

"Your Grace." Sam greeted him, rising to his feet.

"Your Grace." Tyrion followed suit, slightly inclining his head by way of respect. "It is good to see you out and about at last," he commented. "I trust the prince's condition continues to improve?"

"Yes." Brandon answered, as Pod closed the door behind him. "He grows stronger by the day." He motioned to Pod to move him closer to the table, where he looked over the plans himself. After a few moments, he gave a nod of satisfaction. "All is well."

Tyrion could not help but feel somewhat pleased with himself. "With the Stormlands and the Reach to bolster our forces, we should stand a chance. Frankly, the fact that Bronn saw fit to gamble his army on the crown once more is as good a vote of confidence as we could have hoped for. Once Gendry arrives with his, we can advance."

"Good." Brandon responded without emotion. "Very good."

It was a gamble he doubted would pay off, but Tyrion had to try a final time. Perhaps it was a remnant of how greatly Alyssa Stone had initially impressed him, when they had first met. Perhaps he was simply desperate to avoid another battle. Nonetheless, he opened his mouth to request a parley once more. "Once we arrive in the Vale, I could still-"

"Oh. Did I not explain?" Brandon turned his head in an owl-like manner to face Tyrion. "You will not be going."

Tyrion was more than a little caught off-guard. After all, he had laid every plan. "Your Grace…" he began, a note of indignation in his tone. "I must protest-"

"I shall be journeying north," Brandon cut him off. "And I will not leave Robin. Therefore, in the absence of both the king, and the prince, the realm falls into your hands. You must stay, and rule in my name."

Tyrion rather wished he had been consulted regarding this decision before it had been made. Still, as Hand of the King, he knew his duty, and would perform it to the best of his abilities. "Very well, Your Grace." he said, somewhat reluctantly. He gave a small, comic snort. "Gods help the realm."

Once more, Brandon regarded him with those strange, ancient eyes. Every time he did so, Tyrion felt as if he was gazing into his very soul. "I know you do not want it." He paused knowingly. "That is why there is still no one better than you."

* * *

"May I present Lord Gendry of Storms End."

Gendry strode down the aisle of the throne room with his head high. He was fresh off his horse, dressed in full armour, a bulls head helmet under one thick, muscular arm. Though younger, and much lighter, he bore some resemblance to his late father as he approached the king. Perhaps this was due, at least in part, to the war hammer he carried.

Once he reached Brandon, he dropped to one knee, bowing his head respectfully. "Your Grace." he greeted him. Then, he turned to Robin, who was sitting beside the king, and watching with considerable interest. "Your Grace."

At being addressed so formally by such a gorgeous young lord, Robin could not help but feel a little shiver of excitement. He gave Gendry a small, but warm, smile, and a little nod of acknowledgement.

"Lord Gendry." Brandon greeted him, with neither coolness, nor warmth. "You are most welcome in the capitol. On behalf of the realm, I thank you for answering my call. The crown is grateful for your allegiance, and will not soon forget it."

Gendry listened to all this for a moment, taking in the king's gratitude. Then-he rushed forth, dropping his helmet, and clapped a hand sharply on Brandon's shoulder, landing so heavily that his whole body shook. "I don't know much about history. But I know my father loved Ned Stark. They fought together, and they won." Once more, he turned to Robin, fixing him with a piercing stare. "And Jon Arryn was like a father to him. I think Robert Baratheon would turn in his grave if he thought I wasn't helping their sons when they needed me." He looked back at the king, filled with fierce loyalty. "I chose you as my king. I swore my faith, and that of the Stormlands. I will not break faith today."

Robin was quite taken aback by this display of devotion. He remembered Gendry at the Falcon's Tourney, where he had considered him the strong and silent type. It seemed, even in the new Westeros, old loyalties died hard. Despite the little Robin had truly had to do with his father during his life, it certainly paid again and again to be Jon Arryn's son.

"Thank you." Brandon responded. If one knew him well, one could pick out the rare hint of mildness in his tone. "Your contribution to the Battle of Winterfell was invaluable. Without you, perhaps the dead would have prevailed. You were all Jon promised and more."

"I hope to prove as useful to you as I was to your brother. Er-_cousin_." Gendry corrected himself, looking rather awkward. "But I am not sure I deserve quite so much credit. Truly, your sister was the hero of Winterfell…"

"You are right." Brandon agreed, a slightly searching look entering his face. "Arya won us back the dawn."

Now, the awkwardness in Gendry's expression was growing ever more prevalent. He pressed his lips together slightly, before leaning forward once more and speaking rather quietly, unable to meet Brandon's eye. "You don't ever…_hear _from her, do you?"

His attention well and truly caught, Robin leaned forward too, sensing drama.

"No," Brandon answered simply, to a rather disappointed Gendry. "But I know she fares well."

"Does she?" Gendry could not quite hide his eagerness for information. "Well-that-that's good, then." He made a strange grunting noise. Then- "I don't suppose…she's going to come back any time soon?" The question was transparently desperate.

The atmosphere was so thick that one could cut it with a knife. Robin was on tenterhooks.

"One may predict the movements of my sister when one can predict the winds." was all Brandon would say. "She is not ruled by time, nor by distance. If you would wait for her, you may wait a lifetime."

This cryptic answer was not especially appreciated by Gendry, but he knew when he was beaten. "I see." he murmured back, before straightening up. Still, there was a queer, far-away look in his eyes. "Once more, I thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace. I look forward to winning you back the Vale."

The moment Gendry had left the hall-Robin scampered to his feet and hurried over to talk to his husband. "What happened _there_?" he asked, spellbound.

Brandon spoke candidly, and without passion. "He loves Arya. He wishes to marry her. But that just isn't who she is."

"_Really_?" Robin exclaimed, looking after Gendry. He loved Brandon with all his heart, and would until he died-but who on earth could refuse_ him_? With his thick shoulders and bulls head helmet… "So she said no? By all the gods…"

"She did. After Winterfell. Her fate lies outside simply being the lady of Storms End." There was a distinct note of pride in Brandon's voice as he spoke of his legendary sister. "He was crushed-but he was foolish even to ask her, really. It just proved that he scarcely knew her at all…"

Robin gave a little sigh of pity for the clearly grieving lord-but he couldn't help but smile gleefully, patting Brandon's cheek. "I think this is one of the best parts of being married to you; you know _all _the gossip!"

Brandon gave a slightly affronted snort. "I think there is more to being the Three Eyed Raven than simply _knowing all the gossip_."

"Maybe," Robin giggled. "But it certainly has it's perks. Oh darling, you are so funny! And you don't even know it." He kissed him fondly, though it was tinged with sadness. "I wish it were under better circumstances, but I am rather looking forward to travelling home with you…Only…it won't really be home." At this, he threw his arms around him and hugged him hard. "Oh Bran, I'm trying to be brave, but it's so _horrible_. Thinking of Alyssa in the Eyrie…"

Brandon found it difficult to be comforting-but his arm snaked around Robin's back, and settled between his shoulder blades. "It's alright." he said robotically. "It's not for long. And we will win it back. No matter what it takes…"


	47. Comfort

**Hello all! Just a quick thank you-thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! You guys are seriously the best, and I can't wait for you to find out what happens next! More tomorrow, enjoy! xxx**

* * *

_The Kingsroad_

* * *

Travelling-physical travelling at least-was somewhat difficult for Brandon. Perhaps it was all the roaming around he had endured in his youth-being carried by Hodor, or pushed and pulled on a cart or a sled, never resting in one place for too long lest the enemy-whether that be Theon Greyjoy, the dead, or simply time-catch up. One thing was certain about his ascension to the throne; the promise of staying put in the Red Keep for the foreseeable was more than welcome.

But now, it seemed that every effort had been taken to try to ease his journey. He found himself sitting in a specialised carriage, which was fitted with a folding ramp and space to secure his chair, the brainchild of both Tyrion and the Grand Maester. The cushioned seat he found himself on was comfortable and ergonomically designed to accommodate him, with arms and a high back. Someone had even thrown a fur over it, as if to make him feel more at home. The clopping of horse hooves and the gentle bumps of the Kingsroad might once have been soothing. If it weren't for the burden of the Vale on his mind, he might even have begun to enjoy himself. Especially due to the person with whom he shared the road.

"I must say," said Robin, lounging on the heavily pillowed couch opposite him. He had been watching the world go by through the window, but now, he was smiling straight at him. "You are much better company on the road than Lord Tyrion was!"

Brandon regarded him for a moment, thinking of how lovely he was when he smiled. "I am sure he would say the same about you."

"Uh! Charming!" Robin looked somewhat taken-aback, though it was in good sport. "I am certain Lord Tyrion found me more than agreeable."

Brandon cast his mind back, his eyes drifting off into the past. "If I remember correctly, you constantly plagued him with questions throughout the week. Of course he didn't say as much, but he found you profoundly irritating."

"_Really_?" Robin was more intrigued than angry-though his eye twitched. "Oh…Maybe I _was _still a little monster, then…but-wait, how did _you_ know?" He goggled at Brandon, rather vacantly. It was quite sweet, really, how slow he could be to catch on. Brandon watched indulgently, as the cogs slowly chugged into motion behind his floppy dark hair…until, at last: "Were you _spying_ on us?"

"Well, I don't know about _spying_, but I was listening."

"_Spying, listening_…" Robin mocked him gently, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Whatever you call your little trips. _I _call it eavesdropping."

"Eavesdropping?" Brandon considered the ancient magic he had spent his life harnessing, the respect with which he treated it. Despite this, he could not help but enjoy the way Robin reduced it to _spying_ and _gossip_. It just so _fresh_. So refreshing not to take himself seriously for a little while. "It was in my interest. I was agreeing to marry you, after all."

"Then why in the world did you agree to marry someone so profoundly irritating?" Robin questioned him, unable to suppress a grin for a moment longer. Brandon almost could not help himself. His Robin was just…_everything_. As he gazed at him, he came dangerously close to smiling back, giving in to his remaining humanity in the face of such unadulterated joy. Thank every god there was that his dear, wonderful Robin was still alive.

"It is, indeed, beyond comprehension…"

* * *

_The Eyrie_

* * *

"They're coming, my lady." said the knight from below. "The Stormlands, the Crownlands, and the Reach. Three days, maybe."

Alyssa Stone reclined on the Weirwood throne, looking down at the knight who had brought her the news as if he was a mouse squeaking in the corner. The news did not seem to surprise her, least of all to strike fear into her heart. She merely flipped her braid over the other shoulder, and gave a confident little smirk.

"_Excellent_."

She cast her eye sideways to the guard at her side. "Let them come. I look forward to seeing my dear little cousin Robin again…" A little giggle escaped her lips. "Perhaps the best part about failing to kill him the first time…is that I get to do it again!" The giggle became a full-scale cackle, squeezing her eyes shut as she creased with mirth at her own joke. Then-she clapped her hands. "Make ready. Let's give our little prince a _proper_ welcome…"

* * *

_The Kingsroad_

* * *

It was late into the evening. Robin had shut the curtains against the cold night air some time hence, but neither king nor prince was close to ready to shut their eyes. They were not due to stop for the night at the selected inn for some time yet. As they journeyed on, despite the disagreeable setting, and the expected physical uneasiness, Brandon could not help but feel a sense of contentment. Still…the reality of the reason for their travels weighed heavy on his mind…

"Darling?" Robin's voice broke into his thoughts. His sweet face was filled with concern. "What's wrong? Are you uncomfortable?"

Brandon did not respond, as such. Instead, he merely grimaced. There was so much to think about…although in his absence, Tyrion's place was in the capitol, he could not help but wish he was there, to tell him what he ought to do…it wouldn't be so bad if the plans were not so _risky_. The Eyrie was a fortress the like of which was unseen in the rest of the kingdoms. The planned assault had taken a significant amount of chance, trying to apply successes on other castles, when really none were applicable to such a remarkable place…

Really, Brandon did not feel comfortable placing Robin's safety in the unsteady hands of chance. Not comfortable at all.

"Look." Robin had got to his feet. Carefully, holding the sides of the couch, then the arms of Brandon's seat to keep himself steady in the moving carriage, he made his way over to his husband. "Your cushions are all bunched up. Let me." With gentle respect, he began to straighten and plump the cushions on Brandon's chair. "We'll stop soon, I'm sure." he murmured as he worked. "Then you'll be able to rest properly…"

Brandon simply sat and watched, as Robin went about the rather unnecessary task. It was truly astonishing to observe the seismic change that had taken hold in the prince. A short time ago, he would never have deigned to help someone else. And now…it seemed as if he was making up for a lost lifetime of kindness.

"Thank you." he said, trying to sound as if he meant it.

"It's nothing at all," said Robin, holding onto the armrests as the carriage hiked over a bump in the road. An impish smile played about his cheeks. "I am your consort. It is my duty to look after you…" He leaned forward, and dropped a quick kiss on his forehead. "And when you look so troubled, I feel it in my heart." He sighed, burying his fingers in Brandon's hair. "Won't you tell me what's on your mind?"

Brandon thought it was rather obvious; they were on the road to a battle they may not win. Still, he tried to consider the world from Robin's perspective, which was not so black and white as his own. "The head that wears the crown can never lie easy; especially when there is rebellion afoot." He paused. "And I wish I was not bringing you right into the lap of the woman who would happily see you dead."

Robin sighed again, leaning his head to one side. "Do you think I would have let you leave me behind?"

But Brandon was no longer in the mood for battles of wits. He felt a distinct heaviness inside as he looked at the person he loved more than anything else in the world, more than his life, more than his crown. Then, he reached out, and took Robin's hand in his. "I meant what I said to you, my love…Every single word." He was silent for a moment, pondering deeply as he looked into his husband's eyes. "I think this is why arranged marriages are the norm for monarchs. A political match, rather than a personal one. It is dangerous for a king to so love another person, when he ought to lavish that devotion upon the realm…It is more than unwise. Many great rulers have fallen over less…"

Robin looked quite overwhelmed with this proclamation. As it washed over him, his eyes almost popped out of his head. Then, an uneasy smile spread across his face once more. "Don't worry. I still think you are a wonderful king." He beamed, trying to make the atmosphere jovial again. "But, if you really think I am _distracting_ you from what is _really_ important, I shall get out of this carriage and walk."

"No. I forbid it." Despite himself, Brandon could not resist that face, that teasing voice, that smile. Once more, he fought not to return it. "As my consort, it is your duty to stay by my side."

Robin looked more than satisfied. "Exactly as you would have it, Your Grace." he purred. Then, he reached behind him, fumbling and grasping until his fingers closed upon a cushion from his own couch. Once he found it, he cast it onto the floor of the carriage, at Brandon's feet. Then, he knelt down, adjusting himself until he was comfortably perched on the cushion, the satin cover and feathers protecting him from the hard boards. Finally…he lay his head in Brandon's lap.

Brandon did not quite know how to feel as Robin snuggled into him. To his grief, he could not feel the gentle pressure of Robin leaning on him, as his legs were lost to him. But he could feel the silkiness of his hair beneath his fingers, the warmth of his proximity-and certainly the sensation of his heart swelling to twice its regular size. Feeling more than he had felt in a long while, and scarcely believing that this was truly how his life had turned out, he could do nothing but tenderly stroke Robin's hair, praying that this moment would never end, that they would never reach the Vale, nor Alyssa Stone…but he could stay forever in this carriage, hidden from the world…with only his Robin for the rest of his days.

To lose him was a calamity Brandon would not face for a second time.

"Do you really love me more than the realm?" Robin was asking, his tone rather playful.

Recklessly. Ill-advisedly. And knowing that he would do absolutely anything in his power to protect him, no matter what it was, no matter what it meant for the rest of Westeros…

"More than the realm. More than the world."


	48. The Camp

**Hello everyone! I am SO SORRY. I really can't apologise enough for not updating. It is completely my own fault; I let some things get to me that shouldn't have, and so I couldn't bring myself to write. But I'm back now! I figure, if writing this makes me happy, and if it makes even one other person happy, then who am I to stop! **

**Thank you endlessly for sticking with me. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate every single one of you. More tomorrow, promise! xxx**

* * *

_The Vale_

* * *

Robin did not know how he felt as the familiar landscape of home materialised outside the windows of the carriage. The fields, the streams, the rocky edges…then the great Mountains of the Moon, which seemed to dominate the whole kingdom. When he was a child, he had been certain that the mountains were the biggest things in the whole world. To his young mind, nothing else could possibly be any larger, other than the sky or the sea. As they journeyed on into the Vale, Robin's entire childhood seemed to flash before his eyes, scenes playing out before him like pictures in a half-forgotten book…and almost all of them seemed to feature his mother.

Even after all this time, Robin could not help but imagine that she would be waiting for him in the High Hall, calling him Sweetrobin and opening her arms wide for him to run into. The place without her had always felt so vast and barren, like a lake without water. As the years went by, he only found that he missed her more._ She_ had missed so much-all his growing up, his work in Flea Bottom, his wedding…what he wouldn't have given for one more conversation with her, to tell her all about his life, all about Bran, and, especially, just how much he loved her…

"It is strange to be going home," said Robin, more to himself than anyone else. He leaned his head on the door of the carriage, gazing out at the rocky landscape. "Although…I suppose I am not _truly_ going home." He looked back over his shoulder, and smiled at his husband. "My home is the Red Keep. With you."

Brandon did not respond, as such. But he gazed back politely, listening.

"I never thought the capitol could ever feel like home." Robin continued, turning back to the window. "I am so much of the Vale…" He paused for a moment, his heart heavy. "I never thought there would come a day where the Vale did not want me!"

Once more, Brandon did not answer. He merely gave Robin the space to speak.

"It just feels so wrong…" Robin moaned, peering out of the window at the legion of soldiers who marched before them. Some rode on horses, but most walked on foot, lugging their weapons with them. He could not imagine ever walking so far…but something else weighed far more on his mind. "We are going to attack the Vale. The soldiers we will cross swords with…they are men who have protected me my whole life. My own Knights of the Vale. And now…we are sending men to destroy them."

"They betrayed you." Finally, Brandon spoke, his voice very flat. "Remember that."

"Still…" Robin shuddered slightly. "I loathe that we must do this. Men on both sides are going to die for my sake."

"Not just for your sake. For the sake of the realm." Brandon's tone was so certain, so steady, that it was nearly impossible not to believe in him. "Your heart has grown very soft."

"Really?" Robin's head whipped around, suddenly feeling criticised. "So what if it has? I do not see that there is anything wrong with compassion!"

"Did I suggest that there was?" Brandon fixed him with a hard stare. It was not without warmth, however. "I would not have your heart one bit harder than it is now. That is why I chose you as my consort. I needed softness." He was quiet for a few moments, before finishing. "I have seen far too much of the world. I do not feel as you do. In you, I find my balance."

Listening to all this, Robin decided that he was placated. He even found it in him to give a little smile. "You do feel. In your own way."

"Perhaps." said Brandon plainly.

"But I see what you mean," Robin breezed, his whole expression softening. "I couldn't imagine you _crying_, or doing anything like that, but you have a good and righteous heart. You are full of compassion. You just don't show it like I do. My heart is firmly on my sleeve."

Brandon fell silent. He simple regarded his husband with strange eyes, looking suddenly as if he was keeping a secret. But Robin had no time to think upon this. His mind was focused entirely on the battle to come.

* * *

Alyssa's plans were unshakable. Although the combined royal forces vastly outnumbered her men, she had the Vale and the Eyrie-and she knew how to use them. It was one thing to meet an adversary in an open field; and quite another to find one knocking on one's own door. Especially when that door was one of the best guarded in the realm.

A small group of soldiers from the Crownlands had been sent forth to the Bloody Gates, to test the water. Robin could not begin to comprehend the bravery of these men, sent on what could quickly become a suicide mission. But, as Lord Gendry had pointed out, he had once emerged alive from a hunt for the Undead, and so hope could never truly be lost when contending with mortal men. And so, fully armed and strikingly cheerful, the soldiers left the camp at the crack of dawn.

It had been exactly at Robin had feared. Alyssa had manned the Bloody Gates so thoroughly that it was impossible for any man, no matter how clever, to pass. A single solider had rode back with blood on his face and a burning arrow lodged in his right shoulder. As the wound was treated with honey, he had described the kettle they had ventured into. Marksmen, sentries, even vats of boiling oil waiting to be poured upon any advancing army. The Eyrie was, in a word, inaccessible.

Things had only gone from bad to worse. On the first night, a small party of Alyssa's men had sneaked into the royal camp and set free most of their horses. One knight had been caught upon the retreat, but even under intense pressure from Bronn's particular method of questioning, he had not given a single hint as to what Alyssa's plans may be. The man had been tied up in a pen and left to the elements for two days by now, and still, his tongue had not loosened an inch. It would seem that loyalty to Alyssa was alive and well.

The previous night, a miniature battle had broken out on the outskirts of the camp, between another would-be raiding party and any number of the crown's troops who could have ran there fast enough. Although the raiders had all been killed, the fact remained that their appearance had proved once again what Robin already knew; the home advantage, knowing every rocky stream and every crevice of the mountainside, was invaluable. And it would surely prove victorious.

All the while, Brandon had watched on from his chair, his dark eyes extremely wide.

"Ten good men…" Bronn muttered, leaning over the map with tired eyes. "Ten good men, that's all I need…If I could just get past the gate…"

"With all due respect, _my lord_, that's arrogant bullshit, and you know it." snapped Gendry, equally exhausted and trying not to show it. He regarded the rest of the war council, his hand resting on a small wooden bull, which was positioned on the map at the location of the camp.

"Yeah," Bronn drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "When I need some rowing done, I'll send you a raven, son."

With a slight clench of his jaw, Gendry ignored him. Instead, he turned to look at Brandon, who was sitting pensively in the corner of the tent. "What have you seen?"

Brandon took his time responding. There was a certain chill about him as he spoke. "Alyssa's strategy should be obvious to everyone here. She means to lurk in the Eyrie and wait us out. We cannot feed an army indefinitely." He paused, as his words sank into the rest of the room. "If we advance upon her, as we have proven, she will rain fire down on us. If we do not advance, we will sit here for weeks, watching as our men deteriorate."

Robin looked at his husband from across the tent, his heart turning cold in his chest.

"_Good_," said Gendry, not meaning it. "That's good, then. At least we know where we stand." He toyed with the bull in his hand, as if it might tell him the answers. "Perhaps the Eyrie is impregnable after all…"

But Brandon wasn't listening. Instead, he motioned to Podrick Payne to push him closer to the table. With this done, he reached into the pocket of his cloak, and pulled out a tightly bound scroll. It was not large; around the length of a cat when it was rolled out on the table. But, as Gendry and Bronn drew in to read the plans it entailed, it felt as enormous as the mountains themselves.

"Well…" Gendry blew a great deal of air from between his teeth. "That's…ambitious."

But Bronn was chuckling, shaking his head. "I'll say that for Tyrion at least! Unless he's finally gone stark raving mad like the rest of his fucking family…"

In his owl-like fashion, Brandon turned his head to face the lord of the Reach. The corner of his mouth was drooping grimly-but his eyes were fiery.

"Ten good men?"

* * *

Sleep simply would not come to Brandon. Perhaps it was the coldness of the tent, though he was well wrapped in furs. Robin had managed to create a fairly cosy nest for the two of them, the blue and grey tent hung with Stark and Arryn sigils; the bed, though smaller than their bed at the Keep, was reasonably comfortable, all things considered. Still, even in this familiar-as-possible tangle of furs and arms, sleep eluded Brandon well into the small hours of the night.

Robin did not share the same discomfort. He was sound asleep, and had been for some hours. Lying on his front, his arm was thrown carelessly across Brandon's chest, his hand loosely gripping the opposite shoulder. His head was buried in the curve of Brandon's neck, his warm, gentle breathing tickling the skin as he slept dreamlessly.

Brandon could do nothing but stare at the canvas of the tent ceiling above them, his mind running over and over the plans for tomorrow's attack. He found himself wrapping his arms tighter around his Robin, pulling him closer as best he could. Although Brandon trusted Lord Tyrion with his life, and knew him to be the greatest living strategist in the world…a creature of doubt howled relentlessly in the depths of his heart.

If something should go wrong…Robin was as good as dead.

Lying there, holding the person he loved beyond comprehension in his arms, warm and alive, his breath upon his neck…it was extremely difficult to care about something as trivial as a kingdom at all. The Vale was merely one of six. And there was only one Robin.

Brandon knew how ridiculous he was being, and that was the very worst of it. He was _king_, king of the six kingdoms. Did his crown mean nothing to him? Did his _people _mean nothing to him? What sort of a person did that make him?

And yet, as he looked down at his Robin, perfectly peaceful, safe in their bed…he knew in his soul. He cared about the kingdoms with all his being. It was his destiny to be king. But, if he was absolutely honest with himself, in the dead of this dark night, without a crown on his head…the answer was as clear as day. It shocked even himself to consider it. For the sake of the gods, was this how Ser Stefan had felt, walking to the scaffold while proclaiming his love for Robin? It was a dangerous game he was playing now…but, in his brain, he had already cast his hand.

As he bent his head slightly to kiss the top of his Robin's head, he knew that his mind had been made up for him. Never could he leave the life of one so precious in the hand of chance. No. Never again. And so…Brandon knew that he would have to do something drastic. Truly, truly drastic. Something that would have appalled Lord Tyrion, Samwell Tarly, and everyone in the capitol. Something, he was certain, he would come to regret. But something that had to be done.

For the sake of his Robin…_anything_.


	49. Tactics

**Hello all! Sorry to post at such an unsociable hour-I've been really busy today. Thank you so much for sticking with me, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! I appreciate you all so much! More tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

"No!" Pod cried out, vehemently shaking his head. "I won't do it!" Then, just in time, he realised that he had deliberately defied his king. He shrank back several inches, remembering his place-but, with fear in his gut, he knew he had to stand his ground. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. But this is too far!"

Brandon did not look surprised by Podrick's refusal. However, he regarded him eyes of steel. "You are a knight of the kingsguard. When you took your oath, you swore to obey your king."

"I also swore to protect the innocent!" Pod burst out. His face had turned as pale as chalk. It went against every atom of his being-but he remained steadfast. "Once more, Your Grace, I am sorry. But as a knight of your kingsguard, I must counsel you against this. This is-" Involuntarily, he shook his head, looking vaguely sick. "This is-"

"…necessary." Brandon finished for him. He did not drop Podrick's gaze for a moment, his eyes burning more than any number of flaming arrows. "I _order_ you, Ser Podrick Payne, to do your duty. If you will not…Monkoen's machine will be waiting for you the moment we return to the capitol."

Although his expression was almost completely blank; a blind man could have been able to tell that Brandon was a man on the edge.

A visible shudder passed through Pod's entire body. One could see the terror in his face as he pictured the scaffold, the stocks, and the blade. But still, with the last ounce of courage left in him, he held his line. "I swore to protect the innocent." he repeated, his voice wavering slightly. Then, he watched and waited to see what Brandon would do next.

Brandon did not speak straight away. He was not a monster. The last thing he wanted to do was sentence one of his most trusted knights to death, and Pod could see it in his eyes. However, just as resolute as he had been himself, Brandon pushed on. "What about Robin?" he asked, his voice absolutely steady. "Does he not qualify as innocent?"

Pod sensed that he was being given a final chance. A shiver coursed down his spine.

"When the Prince Consort was almost murdered by Stefan Vance," Brandon continued calmly. "he was under _your_ protection. I was lenient. I gave you the benefit of the doubt…but no more." He gripped the arms of his chair as he spoke, as Pod's insides squirmed with that most unpleasant of memories. As he recalled the moments in which he thought Robin had died on his watch, he felt as if he had just been plunged into a vat of cold water.

"There is nothing I will not do to protect my husband." Brandon said, with as much fearsomeness as he could muster. "I will take no more chances. I must regain the Vale, and I must retain Robin. Now." He was silent for a moment, his eyes cutting into Pod like daggers. "Will you do your duty to your king, or will you fail me once again?"

Pod knew full well that his mind was being bended to suit Brandon's will. He knew he was being manipulated. Still…throughout his entire life, Pod had feared failure in the same way that others feared death. It was this fear that had kept him going through the toughest nights on the road with Brienne of Tarth, this fear that had helped him swing his blade at the Blackwater to save Lord Tyrion's life. This fear had made him the greatest squire who had ever lived…

The moral weight of what he was being asked to do weighed down on him like a thousand elephants. Never had Podrick been asked to do anything quite so abhorrent, quite so dangerous, quite so foolish...and yet, as he looked down at the king he had sworn to protect, and to obey…reluctantly, and against all his better judgement, he found himself nodding his head.

* * *

Gendry was almost in his element. He had been working, closely following Lord Tyrion's instructions, for the best part of a day. It helped, of course, to have the assistance of an army at his beck and call, but as he swung his arm back and forth, hammering the battering devices into shape, he could not help but feel as if he was back in his shop in the capitol, smithing over a hot fire and creating.

He had seen little of the king himself, and frankly, that was the way he liked it. Although he had chosen Brandon, and knew him to be the best hope for their broken realm, he could not help but feel uncomfortable in his presence. There was something about those cold, unfeeling eyes that one could never feel at ease in the glare of. Brandon the Broken was hardly the most accessible of personalities.

Additionally, it did not help that every time he looked at him, he was harshly reminded of a Stark he would much rather follow…a Stark, if duty had not prevented him, he would have followed to the very ends of the earth.

Wherever she was, whatever she was doing…Gendry could not help but find himself looking out to sea occasionally, across Shipbreaker Bay, and searching the horizon for her ship…

* * *

The day of reckoning was upon them. Robin had woken early to the sound of an army preparing outside; the stamp of the remaining horse hooves, the scraping of steel upon steel, the call of voices as orders were shouted from one end of the camp to the other. And yet, as the furs fell away from him-he found that he had woken, for the first time in a long time, to empty arms.

Feeling distinctly odd, he tumbled out of bed and began to search for his cloak. He could not believe he had managed to sleep through Brandon rising, dressing, and being helped into his chair. He must have been dead to the world, almost as if he had drank Nightshade once again…slipping his bare feet into his boots, he hurried outside into the chilly dawn air. As he exited the tent, a pair of guards hurried after him, watching his every move as he began his hunt. The grass was wet with dew beneath his feet, the sky still vaguely pink above his head as he wandered this way and that, searching and searching…

After a good quarter of an hour of picking his way through the preparing army, of dodging spears and piles of horse dung-finally, in the shade of a secluded little tree beneath the mountain, he spotted a dark figure sitting in a chair, guarded by a knight.

"Darling?" Robin called out as he approached Brandon from the back. "What are you doing here? Why didn't you wake me when you rose?"

As he heard Robin, Podrick Payne glanced back over his shoulder. There was a certain trouble in his eyes that set Robin more than ill at ease-but he could not think on that now. He hurried around to the front, skirting around his chair, until he faced him.

That was when he saw them. Brandon's eyes, completely whited out in his head. Wherever the king was, he was a great many miles away from Robin. His belly gave an uneasy jolt; seeing Brandon like this always spooked him slightly. It was as if he became a being from another world.

"What is he doing?" Robin questioned Podrick, crouching down so that he was at eye level with his husband.

Whether Pod did not know, or whether he knew, but was oath-bound not to respond, he simply shook his head.

On this day, this day of all days, on which they would attempt to take back the Eyrie from the hands of rebels, Robin felt that he needed his husband more than ever. He dreaded what was to come, and could not help but feel frightened of Alyssa, and what she had planned. A simple hug, a kiss, a kind word, would have meant the world to him…but Brandon had gone.

Sighing, Robin threw his arms around him as best he could, planting a rather desperate kiss on his cheek. For the first time in his life-he would have to truly cope on his own. And that-that frightened him more than any creepy whited-out eyes…

* * *

Alyssa waited on the Weirwood throne, presiding over her realm from this most pride of places. The Queen of the Vale, sitting up high in the Eyrie, she felt untouchable. And, with all her soul-she knew this to be true.

Two thousand men stood between Brandon's army and her. Two thousand men, and the Bloody Gate. Let them plan their little assault if they wanted to…she would simply sit pretty here, upon her throne where she belonged, and wait for her army to pick them off in the valley like shooting fish in a barrel…an excited little shiver passed through her. In spite of the seriousness of the whole affair-when one was certain of their victory, it was all tremendous _fun_.

How much she was looking forward to seeing little Sweetrobin again. She looked down at the floor of the High Hall, the Moon Door gaping open before her like a mouth with no teeth. When he was captured-as he was sure to be, following the defeat of the royal army-perhaps she would take great pleasure in making _him_ fly…yes. There was a certain poetic justice to it. Little Sweetrobin would die the same way as his mad mother…It was a shame that he would be smashed to pieces on the rocks before he could truly appreciate the cyclical nature of life…

Perhaps she could-

"Your Grace!"

Alyssa was snapped out of her thoughts by a call from below. She leaned forward in her seat, almost disappointed to have been brought out of such a pleasing fantasy. "What is it?" she demanded of the knight who stood before the throne.

"Our scouts inform us that the crown's combined forces are advancing."

Alyssa smiled, her fingers curling contentedly on the arms of the chair. "_Good_. I want to hear their screams from here…"

"Very well, Your Grace." said the knight, giving a quick bow. He looked up at her, hot pride in his gaze. "We will rain fire down upon them."

"Yes…" Alyssa found that she was practically licking her lips. "Yes you will…" She paused. "And when they surrender…which they will…I want Robin brought to me. _Alive_." There was no way she would allow the delight of his disposal to fall to someone else… "And make sure that-"

But, before she could finish her sentence…suddenly-a great thundering noise echoed throughout the Eyrie.

Alyssa's voice caught in her throat. She looked all around, listening for the patter of rain, a crack of lightening. "Is a storm approaching?" she asked doubtfully. "I could have sworn I heard-"

More thundering.

The knight of the Vale who stood below was listening to. However…a very dark shadow was drawing over his face.

"It's not thunder, my queen." he murmured, hardly daring to believe his own ears.

"Then what is it?" Alyssa commanded.

Now…something extremely fearful was beginning to take hold inside the knight. Looking straight at Alyssa, with eyes as wide as the moon, he spoke in a voice so soft, the queen had to strain to hear it:

"It's the mountains."


	50. The Mountains

**Hello all! Thank you endlessly for reading, and for all your support. Especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed. I appreciate every single one of you so much. I hope you enjoy this. More tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

Bronn had been watching the sky since first light. In the freezing cold of the earliest morning, he had quite enjoyed the peace and quiet, listening to birds flying overhead as he waited. It wasn't often he was able to simply sit under the sky anymore, and take in the elements. After all, now he had an enormous castle to sleep in, why on earth would he?

But now, he sat, hidden away in the hills, looking for a sign. By his side, a small fire burned, next to a small metal pail of pitch. Over his shoulder, a longbow was slung, along with a quiver of arrows waiting to be fired. He cast his mind back to the Falcon's Tourney, where he had been outshot by that Jenny Feathers woman, who had swooped in to claim the champion's purse ahead of him by a matter of yards. His prowess with the bow had been what had first won him his knighthood at the Battle of Blackwater. Aside from anything else, he was quite keen to snatch his honour back from the jaws of defeat.

Rubbing his hands together against the chill, he turned to his side. Sitting behind him, patiently waiting with him, were a small party of soldiers. Each one had come highly recommended from their commanders, and each one was hardier and more war-weary then the last. The pattern of scars across some of their faces made them almost unrecognisable as human-but that did not matter in the slightest. All that was important was that they numbered exactly half a score.

Ten good men. Some climbing spikes. And a few other little advantages Lord Tyrion had planned for them. Bronn was well and truly about to put his money where his mouth was.

"I don't suppose any of you have ever heard the one about the honeycomb and the jackass?"

But before he could continue-

"My lord." The biggest and ugliest of the men was pointing up at the pinkish sky.

From the opposite side of the hills-and the opposite side of the Bloody Gate-a flaming arrow had just been fired into the air. It soared up high, it's torchlight illuminating the sky for a moment-before it came crashing back down to earth.

Bronn felt an acute jolt of excitement burst inside him. It was always the same-whether he was about to fight a battle, or fuck a girl-it never got old. Slowly, pulling an arrow from his quiver, he got to his feet. Then, he bent down, and coated it carefully in pitch. Finally, he held it to the flame, waiting to ensure he got good purchase-before, in a single movement, he prepared his bow, drew the arrow, held it up to the sky-and fired.

Without waiting to see if his shot would land-he turned, and slung his climbing equipment over his shoulder.

"Let's go impregnate this bitch."

* * *

BOOM.

The shook seemed to shake the very chasms of the earth. The moment Bronn's burning arrow had found its target-there was a clap like the loudest thunder in the world.

Wildfire. In the right hands-those of Lord Tyrion-it was unstoppable.

BOOM.

It was as if the mountains themselves were imploding. As soon as Bronn's arrow had hit the barrels of wildfire Gendry had placed in the mountains not an hour before-the sky above seemed to turn green. Then-before the knights of the Vale, who were standing guard at the Bloody Gates, could even process what had just happened-the landslide began.

The Wildfire had displaced a vast area of rock. It seemed as though half of the mountain had simply been cut away from its root by the enormous explosion. And, the moment it had done so-it began its grim journey downwards. Down, after all, was the only way that rocks could fall. Tonne after tonne of mountain side slid down towards the valley below-the valley, over which, stood the Bloody Gates.

If there had been time to run, it was unlikely that many would have made it. But without warning, in this way-there was scarcely time to scream. There was only thundering, the very thundering of the earth-and green flame, like lightning bolts above, casting the world into chaos.

Less than two minutes later, the valley was filled with rocks. One could not defend against the brute weight of the mountains. And as for the Bloody Gates…like blasts of gunpowder through iron, deafeningly-one of the greatest structures in Westeros had finally been compromised.

How many men had been buried under the rocks? There were no screams. No way of knowing how many men of the Vale had been crushed to death by the slide. However…it was certainly enough to make a difference. And now…between the royal army, and the Eyrie, there lay only land and rocks.

In the face of all the pandemonium, of the wreckage and disaster…no one saw Bronn, nor his party of ten, slip through the lines, and plunge their climbing spikes into the sheer rockface that held up the Eyrie. No one saw them beginning the long, slow climb towards the castle…

If Lord Tyrion could have seen his plans being realised…perhaps proud would have been the wrong word, in the face of the bloodshed at the gates…but he would certainly have felt a certain sense of accomplishment.

And, as Gendry led the charge towards the Eyrie, war hammer held aloft-Brandon the Broken had already made his stand. The Vale was one of six kingdoms…and that was the way it was going to stay.

* * *

Back in his tent, Robin had heard the thunderous blasts of Wildfire, and the terrible sound of falling rocks. He could not bear to think about what might be happening to his old home. But still-it was all for the greater good. He could not and would not leave his people in the hands of Alyssa. Gods willing, by the end of the day, she would be in the custody of the crown.

There was a distinct sinking feeling in his heart as he considered the fact that Alyssa may soon be executed…his constant companion, his greatest friend of so long…Fiercely, he scolded himself-Alyssa had tried to murder him! The Alyssa that sat up in the High Hall, on his throne, was not the Alyssa of his memory. He tried to think of the Alyssa he loved and the Alyssa he loathed as two separate entities. Perhaps that would make her trial and execution easier to bear…

Still, a part of him could not quite believe it.

But this was reality. He was out here, on his own. All alone, but for his guards outside, in this tent, in this field, waiting for his fate to be sealed.

If only Brandon was here…whatever he was doing, out there with Ser Podrick Payne, it had better be of vital importance…Robin doubted he had ever needed a hug more than he did at that moment. Even one of Brandon's stiff, awkward embraces would have been glorious…

Perhaps he could go and-

Suddenly-from outside the tent-there came the sound of steel on steel.

Robin's heart leapt into his neck.

Then came the shouts, and the grunts-then-the gurgles of blood and dying men.

Shadows formed outside the door. Upon the blue canvas, they grew, and they grew…

For a split second-Robin was frozen in fear. But, in blind panic, he managed to snap himself back into action. After two attempts on his life-he was nothing if not prepared. Faster than he had ever moved in his life, he ran towards the bed, and dived beneath it, pulling the furs down to cover the path to him. Scarcely able to fit, he was crushed between the canvas and the earth. As he heard the sound of feet sprinting into the tent-he clapped a hand over his nose and mouth. He could feel his heart beating in his throat.

Slowly, being careful not to make a sound, he reached down, his fingers fumbling as he groped in the darkness for his boot.

"Are you sure this is the one?" A voice hissed from somewhere inside the tent. Robin's entire body was quaking in fear-but he kept his hand steady, reaching deep into the side of his boot, until-his fingers closed around the hilt of a knife.

For the sake of the gods, he did not know how to use it. But it was better than nothing.

"Of course it is." came another voice, from the other side of the tent. "It's the most heavily guarded of the lot." The voice gave a soft chuckle. "These men from the capitol…they go down like whores on your nameday…"

Robin waited, clutching the knife, and trying not to breathe.

"We know you're in here, _Your Grace_…" The first voice again. The man appeared to be circling the tent. "Why don't you make it nice and easy for us?"

"After all…" The second voice. "The easier you go on us…the easier we'll go on you…"

Not since Stefan in the ally had Robin been so terrified. All he could do was lie on the ground, hoping and praying that somehow-

But, all too quickly-daylight flooded the gap beneath the bed. The furs had been thrown away-and Robin's hiding place was exposed.

Before he could begin to react-several sets of strong arms had reached underneath the bed, and grabbed him. By his left arm and left leg, kicking and flailing as best he could-Robin was pulled out into the open.

"Ah! _There _you are! The lord of the Vale has returned to us!"

Robin found himself looking up at a group of men in full armour, bearing the Arryn sigil on their chests. What he had taken to be two men…must have been closer to twelve. He did not have the time, nor the inclination to count them. All he could do-was close his eyes, pray to all the gods-and flash the knife.

The pathetic scrape of Robin's blade against chain mail elicited nothing but mirth from his captors. Indeed, several of them even laughed out loud. "Seven hells! Old Royce didn't manage to teach you a thing, did he?" Almost carelessly-the knife was knocked from his hand. It clattered to the ground with a small thud.

Desperately, fear almost choking him-Robin played his final card. He looked at the Arryn sigils that surrounded him, and cried out his final hope. "I am Robert Arryn, Prince Consort of the Six Kingdoms and Lord Paramount of the Vale. Let me go, and I promise you, whatever Alyssa is paying you, the crown will-!"

Once more-a small bubble of laughter escaped his captors as he was yanked to his feet. "You fancy lords think everything is about gold, don't you?" said the first man, as he secured Robin's arms behind him with a length of rope.

But Robin wasn't finished. As he was bound, a new sort of franticness overtook him as the ropes wound tighter and tighter around him. "My father was Jon Arryn. Each of you served him, and all who served him loved him. If you bore any love for my father, or for the Vale, you will-"

"Your father's dead, little Sweetrobin." said another man, as he bound Robin's wrists. "If succession doesn't mean anything to the crown any more, why should it mean anything to us?"

Robin opened his mouth, without yet having decided what would come out of it-but before he could speak a single word-a sack had been pulled over his head. Then, with a small cry-he was lifted clean off his feet, and slung over someone's shoulder. Still struggling with all his might to escape-he was carried out of the tent, and thrown across the back of a horse.

Blinded by the sack, when the horse was led swiftly away to goodness knows where-though Robin had a hunch he knew exactly where he was being taken-he finally allowed himself to go limp. At least the sack covered the wretched tears that began to spill uncontrollably down his cheeks. All he could do, as the horse took him away from the camp and safety, away from Brandon, and into the unknown…was pray to every god there was that, for a third time, he might be delivered from the jaws of death…

_Where was Bran? _


	51. Steel

**Hello everyone! I won't keep you long-just a quick thank you for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! Much love, more tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

After the collapse of the Bloody Gate, the crown forces outnumbered Alyssa's army almost three to one. However, the unity of the Vale rebels and brute force of the dwindling, but still present, home advantage, meant there was still a battle to be won. A battle in a valley of falling rocks, which still crashed down to the earth from the explosion in the mountains, crushing friend and foe alike. To Gendry, as he brought his hammer down on helmet, after breastplate, after anywhere he could reach, it could not have felt different from the Battle at Winterfell, in which the odds had been almost comically stacked against them. If he could come through an army of the dead many times the size of all the men here put together, he could come through this. Still-arrogance had been the undoing of many a good fighter.

At heart, Gendry was still a smith. But there was something terribly satisfying about feeling bones break beneath his hammer, cracking open skulls like eggs, and watching bloody teeth fly out of the shocked mouths of their owners. He could certainly see why his father, Robert Baratheon, had loved war so much…Still, he knew-in his life, there was only one true warrior. And she was far away…so very far away…

Aside from his loyalty to the crown, to Ned Stark's son, and to the realm-Gendry fought harder, knowing that he had to keep himself alive, should Arya Stark ever return to these shores.

The combined forces of the crown slowly, but surely, cut through the defenders, breaking their lines and scattering their formations. Hour by hour, at a snail's pace, they wore them away like the ocean crashing against rocks. It was like working an enormous sheet of steel into shape; every little hit, every bend, every spark felt like nothing, and the metal remained resolutely a shapeless lump. But, gradually, Gendry could see the weapon he was forging beginning to take shape. And soon, all those hours of tireless work would be rewarded.

However-just as he whipped his hammer around, flooring two men at once-something caught his eye.

At the very edge of what could charitably be called the battlefield-he noticed a small party of men-maybe a dozen or so, all marching towards the Eyrie with their shields turned up against the falling debris. Between them, they pulled a white horse, over which most of the shields were held. Gendry could not help but squint at this peculiar sight for a moment, watching as the dwindling defenders of the Vale let them instantly through the lines. Why would men be so eager to protect a horse?

But then, just before the odd sight disappeared into the throng-he caught sight of a body, slung over the back of the horse. The body was bound, and a sack over its head concealed its identity. From this distance, he took it to be a corpse, and nothing more.

Gendry was quickly absorbed back into the heat of the battle, and the sight of the body on the horse was quickly forgotten. He had only two goals-win back the Vale, and keep himself alive. For the king. For her.

* * *

"_Do you know where you are? When you are this close to the throne, any wrong move could be your last_…"

Lord Tyrion's words, from so long ago, rang in Robin's ears as he was led up a stone staircase. Still, he was blinded by the sack-but even his sightless eyes knew where he was. He knew it by the sounds, the smells, the feeling in his bones. He was back in the place he had spent his childhood, back in the place he thought he would always call home. This was the Eyrie.

The hands on his shoulders felt like anchors, weighing him down so much he began to ache. Behind him, and before him, he heard footsteps upon the stone, his captors creating a human barrier around him, so that any notion of escape was fruitless.

He had thought passing through the battlefield was the worst of it, with the clashing of steel, the falling of rocks, and the screams of the dying…he had never been so close to a battlefield in his life. Certainly, he had never expected it to stink like that. All the songs made warfare sound so glorious-and yet, all he could smell from beneath the sack was blood, sweat, and shit.

Finally, the long climb was over. Robin's heart raced like a rabbit's as he was brought to a halt. His stomach swooped, his bound hands were clammy, and his mind did not feel like his own anymore. It was merely a blank sheet, incapable of thought, incapable of action, incapable of anything but fear…

_No_. He was brave. He was brave.

As the sack was ripped from his head, daylight hitting his eyes like knives cutting into them-he stood up as straight as he could to face whatever was to come.

Robin's eyes cleared to reveal the place in which he had spent so many hours of his life that he thought he knew every inch of it. The high painted ceiling, the twisting Weirwood throne, the upward draught of air from the gaping Moon Door in the centre of the room…This was the High Hall.

He was home.

Only, it wasn't home. And someone was sitting in his chair.

"Ah, my lovely Sweetrobin. So nice to see you back where you belong." came the voice from above.

Robin forced himself to look. There, on the throne, sat a pale young woman with a long braid of black hair that hung to her waistband. She wore her habitual charcoal cloak-and an expression of absolute triumph.

"I hope you'll forgive the manner in which you were brought here, Your Grace." Alyssa drawled, sweeping to her feet and clapping her hands beneath her chin. "We weren't altogether convinced that you would come otherwise. You do seem to have grown rather…" Her lip curled as she searched for the right word. "…_attached_ to that bizarre creature you call a king."

Anger swelled in Robin's gut on his husband's behalf. But he knew that now was not the time to challenge Alyssa. As he stood, six feet from the maw of the Moon Door, alone and friendless in his old home...he could only hold his head up high, and hold back his tears. As he looked up at Alyssa, whom he had once so loved…he refused to give her the satisfaction.

"Frightened, Sweetrobin?" Alyssa's eyes had grown wild. "No falcon here to peck me to bits, like poor Ser Stefan?" She gave a rather nasty smile. "I wonder, dear, if you realised that he was working on my behalf?"

Robin's heart felt as though it might break down. He felt his skin growing horribly pale. The roaring in his ears told him that he might faint…and yet, desperately, he held on.

"Oh no…" Alyssa continued, sneering. "Oh no…you're far too stupid for any of that…Everyone here knew it. Ever since you were a little boy…you were so _slow_, so weak…" She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Even your beloved Uncle Petyr would have smothered you in a heartbeat if he thought the time was right…" A nasty chuckle. "All it would have taken was a pillow over your face as you slept. No one would have questioned it-after all, your health was always so very delicate…you would have been so easy to get rid of…It was a shame your mummy liked you…"

Robin stood fast. His heart felt like a lump of ice in his chest.

"Mummy dearest couldn't see what was in front of her eyes…" Alyssa took a few steps towards him. "She had saddled the Vale with a boy who was no more like Jon Arryn than I am like the Hound. Right from the moment you were born, everyone knew the kingdom was doomed. Why do you think those who were older and wiser than you made your every decision for you, even as you entered your majority? No one was going to leave our home in the hands of a sickly, spoiled little brat with his mother's milk scarce out of him. _Oh no_."

Suddenly, she smiled, showing a lot of her small, sharp teeth. "But no one was prepared to go as far as I am to protect the Vale. No one else was strong enough. Not Littlefinger, not my father…Only _me_."

Then-without warning-she raised her voice, so that it echoed from the rafters. "Weakness will never rule the Vale again! I will bring us back to the age before the conquest, when we were a free and independent people, each man and woman of the Vale worth ten from the rest of Westeros! I will create the greatest kingdom the world has ever known, or ever will know! And I shall be queen of it all!"

The silence that followed her words was deafening.

"But to do that…" Alyssa took a final step forward, so that she was right on the edge of the platform. Like a cat about to sink its teeth into prey, her glowing eyes bore straight into her prisoner. "I cannot allow Jon Arryn's son to live…"

Robin pressed his boots firmly into the floor to prevent him from physically shaking. The High Hall seemed to be fading away to blackness around him as he stood, bound and restrained, before the Moon Door. It was an extreme reversal of roles. How many times had Robin seen unfortunates fly like leaves in the wind, down and down and down? And now, he was stood in their place…

Twice before had Robin believed he was facing his final moments. Twice, he had got the chance to die bravely. He had not managed it either time. But now, when it mattered the most…he dug deep inside him, to a place he had never accessed before, to a place he had not known even existed…and he looked back up at Alyssa with eyes of dragon glass. He would not beg. He would not plead. Instead…he would spend his last moments showing the world just how strong he had become.

"I am not weak." His voice, though quiet, cut through the silence with the strength of a hundred blades. "I am _not_ weak. And you are no queen." He looked straight up at her, finding the last ounce of courage inside him as the wind whipped upwards through his hair. "I have faith in the realm. And, above all, I have faith in the king." He found her gaze, and forced her to hold it. "You can kill me. But this is a war you have already lost."

Alyssa did not look troubled in the slightest by this outburst. Instead, she even looked rather amused. "Gods be good, Sweetrobin. I did say that life in the capitol would be the making of you."

With one final look up at the painted moons on the ceiling above him…Robin closed his eyes. Holding the image of his mother in his mind, knowing that she would be waiting for him on the other side-horribly, with the last of his strength-he braced himself. "Make me fly." he dared her, his voice only trembling for a second. "Make me fly, and watch your rebellion fly with me."

Silence.

Robin's brain seemed to have gone into slow motion. _Bran…his own Bran…_His face was the only thing left. It was more real than the hands restraining him, the ropes around his wrists, the stone beneath his feet…Suddenly, amid the incomprehensible sense of fear…a terrific calmness washed over him. His hands ceased to tremble, his heart to pound…he felt as though he was already in another plane…

From somewhere, far, far away, he heard a woman's voice… "_So be it_."

Robin was going to fly. He would fly, down and down, for a few seconds, and he would know nothing but the clear, glorious air. There would be a sharp stop. And then…he would see his mother again. _Bran_…those eyes, those dark eyes like nothing else in the world…he would think of nothing else, ever again…

And then…

Steel.

Suddenly-the hands that grasped him fell away.

He was not so much let go as dropped. His eyes snapped open as he fell to the floor, landing hard on his shoulder, his cheek almost bouncing off of the stone-and his heart leapt into his throat. He almost screamed. He was looking down at the sheer drop, the emptiness of the Moon Door…and face was less than an inch from the edge. With almost inhuman strength, he rolled away from it-and he found himself looking up at the ceiling once more. Those painted moons…Relief, relief like nothing he had ever known before flooded every part of his body…he was not flying…he was not dead…

But what was happening?

Steel. Shouts-cries-then, the grunts of dying men.

Then, before he could begin to process what was happening-a familiar face loomed into view.

"Afternoon, Your Grace!" said Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, with a knight of the Vale in a choke-hold. Casually, as if he did such things every day of his life, he slit the man's throat, and cast him carelessly through the Moon Door. "It's quite handy, really, isn't it? No clean up required!"

Robin let out such an enormous gasp that he was amazed his heart did not leap out of his mouth. All around him, Bronn's men fought his captors-ten good men, with ropes and climbing spikes slung over their shoulders, cutting down Robin's captors as if they were made of straw. Hardly able to breathe, Robin could only watch, trying desperately to keep himself from passing out. His blood was pounding in his head, his heart practically palpitating. But he was here…he was alive…and he was strong…

"Where is the rebel bastard?" a voice shouted.

Dizzily, Robin's eyes flicked upwards to the Weirwood throne. But Alyssa Stone was nowhere to be found. In amid the chaos of the surprise attack, she had fled the scene without a trace.

"Not to worry." Bronn breezed, as he pulled Robin bodily to his feet, cutting through the robes binding him with a flick of his dagger. They fell to the floor at his feet with a dull thud. "If Gendry's men have come through, she won't get far."

Robin did not have the energy left to disagree. He opened his mouth-to thank Bronn? To say something authoritative, befitting his status as a prince? To ask how the assault on the Eyrie had played out, after a lifetime of believing the castle to be impregnable?

Whatever it was…a few seconds later, it was utterly lost.

For, from somewhere in the distance…a noise.

A noise, a noise that ripped through the air like Wildfire. A noise that was both ancient, and painfully new.

A noise that Robin had never heard before in his life. And yet…a noise he could not doubt.

A cry. Not a cry…It was something else. Something else entirely.

Every man left alive in the High Hall froze to the spot.

Closer. The roar was coming closer, the sound growing louder and clearer by the second. As it drew nearer…the beating of wings could be heard above the stunned silence. Then, in the last few seconds…a dark, winged shadow was cast over the Eyrie.

A _roar_.


	52. Flames

**Hello everyone! Wow, I am completely overwhelmed by your kind words! Seriously-thank you every single one of you for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed and reviewed. I really appreciate your time, and I can't wait for you to read the next few chapters! We're almost drawing to a close now...more tomorrow, hope you enjoy! xxx**

* * *

Perhaps the last of the old dragons had failed to cut an intimidating image. After all, when their skulls had lined the throne room in the Red Keep, they had been merely the size of cats. What could one have expected from locking them away? No creature, and especially not a dragon, was meant to be kept in a cage.

But Drogon…Drogon, who had been free his entire life, had grown to more than his full potential. His vastness was beyond description; when he stretched his great wings, he seemed to fill the whole of the sky. His black scales glistened in the sunlight, and, when he bared his teeth, they were like the tusks of a thousand elephants, perfectly white and sharpened to a lethal point. His roar, whenever it came, seemed to shake the earth to its very core.

However, all of these terrible features notwithstanding-had Drogon been half his size, he would still have inspired unimaginable horror. For, the last time Drogon had graced the shores of Westeros…a city had been wasted. The flames had been devastating, the bodies countless. Indeed, as Robin had learned upon his arrival in Kings Landing, the capitol had yet to recover. And so, the moment his roar had been heard, the moment his wings had spread once more across the sky…there was nothing but pandemonium below.

Forgotten were the sides of the rocky battlefield. Forgotten were the notions of friend and foe. All that mattered, the only thought in any one of the fighter's minds…was _cover_. As they scrambled into coves, beneath precarious rockfalls, and even solely under the protection of their shields, not a single steel blade was crossed. The field fell as silent as the grave.

But _how_? The Dragon Queen was dead. Jon Snow had killed her. How was it possible that Drogon could have returned?

Even as the dragon flew low over the mountains and the valleys, swooping down towards the Eyrie, not a single person could see his eyes. Those eyes, ordinarily alive with the blazes of the fire inside…were completely whited out.

Only one man in the whole landscape continued moving. That man was Podrick Payne, who was practically running across the winding mountains paths that led to the Eyrie. It was most difficult to manoeuvre the wheelchair he pushed over the rocky ground, but, with gritted teeth, and a determination not to look up at the creature overhead, he managed. In the chair, perfectly still, his eyes as white as the dragon's, sat King Brandon the Broken. He had no idea what was going to happen next, and every fibre of his being screamed at him that he was doing something incredibly wrong. He wished with all his might that he had been able to persuade his king against this most dangerous of plans…but now, all he could do was follow his orders.

As Podrick hurried along, trying to ignore the dragon cries that echoed all around him, he prayed that Bronn's climb had prevailed. With any luck, Alyssa would already be in chains by the time they reached the Eyrie…and then there would be no need for any of this…

It still seemed impossible that Brandon was truly controlling such an enormous beast with his mind. It was a magic that Podrick did not, and never would, understand. And, the more he looked at his king…there more he did not want to.

* * *

Robin could not move. He was paralysed with fear, frozen to the spot at the edge of the Moon Door, which had almost claimed him, wondering whether he had finally gone mad. No. It could not be. Dragons could not have returned to Westeros…

He recalled yet more words of Lord Tyrion's, spoken to him so very long ago: _A dragon is a beautiful and terrible thing. The are a relic of a world long, long turned to ash_…

As the words spun sickeningly around his mind-a voice, a real voice, broke into his thoughts-

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Bronn was the first man to snap into action. He turned to the eight of his party that remained, and gave the orders quickly-but in hushed tones, as if the approaching creature may have already been able to hear him.

"Now, lads. This is the difference between life and death. You have to keep your heads, or we might all lose them. You-" He pointed at half of the men. "Search the Eyrie for Alyssa. We can't forget why we're here. The sort of chaos this will cause will give her the perfect opportunity to escape, and we can't let that happen. And you-" He pointed at the other half. "Stick to the Prince Consort. If anything happens to him, the choice will be yours-be burned to a crisp by that scaly bastard, or stick your neck in Monkoen's machine." He paused, staring fiercely around at his strongest and his best. "As a man who survived the wagon train attack, my advice to you is this: don't get killed."

Robin could not believe that Bronn could be so cool in the face of a fire-breathing monster. But he did not have time to think on it as the knight sprinted away with the energy of a man half his age, his searching party at his back. As Robin was left behind with four of the biggest fighters he had ever seen, the cries of the dragon still echoing throughout the mountains-cold fingers of fear closed around his heart.

Still-inspired by Bronn's nerve-Robin knew that his new strength could not fail him now. No. He was a prince. And a prince he would be. Trying not to show how terrified he felt, he turned to the men who had been left to guard him, and began, in a trembling voice, to give orders of his own.

"We have to find cover." he said, as authoritatively as he possibly could. "There are some chambers low down in the depths of the castle. They are our best chance if…if the-the _dragon_-is headed this way." He gathered himself, threw off the last of the ropes around him, and began to hurry towards the exit chamber of the High Hall, and the steps that led downward. "Follow me!"

As his men followed, their blades unsheathed and their jaws set, not an ounce of fear betraying any one of them-Robin's mind was still reeling. Oh Gods. _Bran_. If Brandon was still sitting out on that hill, miles away from where anyone could reach him, and totally exposed-what if the dragon-? But then, Robin remembered, Ser Podrick was with him. He would get him to safety. Robin would have to trust in the kingsguard to protect his beloved. He hoped, wherever Brandon had travelled in his mind that day, it was more important that a bloody_ dragon_ attack…

Just as he hurried out of the High Hall-it hit him.

Robin was so shocked that he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Your Grace?" said one of the men, looking mystified at Robin's sudden stillness in the face of such urgency.

Robin did not reply. Surely…surely not…but then, as the image of the falcon attacking Stefan in the back alleys of Flea Bottom swam horribly into his mind…he could not be so certain.

If it was true…then Robin did not know what to do.

* * *

Alyssa did not know how long she had been hiding. She did not know what was going on outside on the battlefield, nor inside her own castle. The moment Bronn of the Blackwater's men had began to cut down her own in the High Hall, she had known that her best chance was simply to flee. It had been her plan to find a horse, and steel far away into the mountains. As long as the hill tribes did not get to her first, she would simply wait out the storm, and pray that her side was victorious. All she would have to do then was to return to the Eyrie a queen.

If they were not…She would cling to her horse for dear life, and flee north. As far north as north went, and she would not stop until she reached the Wall…then-she did not know what she would do.

The Eyrie was supposed to be impregnable. That was all she had heard, ever since she was a child-from her whore mother, from her noble father, from everyone she had ever met. And yet…here she was, fleeing…

But then-the roars had come.

Alyssa was not stupid. She knew a dragon when she heard one.

And so-in a stone chamber in the depths of the Eyrie-the chamber in which council meetings were held between the lords and ladies of the Vale, generally to make decisions on Robin's behalf-she had hidden herself. If she had been a woman of the gods, she would have prayed. But instead, she cowered in silence, hoping with all her strength that the great beast of the sky would bypass the Vale on its travels-wherever and why ever the hell it was travelling anywhere near Westeros again-and then she would be able to make her escape under the cover of the ensuing chaos.

Three times. A dagger at his heart, poison down his throat, and the Moon Door at his feet. Three times, she had been so close to destroying Robin once and for all. And all three times, she had failed. _How_ had she failed? He was a weakling orphaned boy, a spoiled, pampered prince who had fed at his mother's breast until he had almost reached adolescence, with no more strength or wits about him than a newborn babe…he should have died easily…and yet, stubbornly, he had continued to live.

Perhaps, for the first time in her life, she had underestimated Robin Arryn.

But there was no time to re-evaluate the prince's state now. There was her own state to worry about. If she could not escape-her very life was at stake.

And so, trusting the panic the advent of the dragon had caused to cover her-she hid.

Minutes ticked by at a snail's pace. Alyssa's chest ached from the effort of breathing, her heart was sore from racing fit to burst inside it. Every one of her ribs felt as though it might shatter. _Wait…be quiet, and wait…wait for silence…wait for- _

BANG.

All at once-the door of the chamber was thrown open.

Five men had sprinted into the chamber. Four of the faces she did not know-but one, she knew all too well.

Alyssa did not have time to run. She did not even have time to scream.

* * *

Bronn's capture of Alyssa had gone as well as could have been expected under the circumstances. He led the way through the Eyrie, dragon cries still sounding overhead like death knells. Behind him, escorted by four enormously burly men, came the rebel queen.

To her credit, she struggled all the way. Never for a moment did she let up trying to break free from the iron grasp of her captors_. She has a lot of fight in her_, Bronn thought to himself. _I'll say that. No wonder she almost took this kingdom for her own_…_She's cleverer than Littlefinger_ _was_…

Every instinct in his body wanted to kill her on the spot, and have done with it. She had proved a slippery character so often in the past, and she fought tooth and nail so fiercely the whole way down the stairs, through the Eyrie, and out onto the rocky plains below, that weaker men might have let go of her. But he knew his orders-Alyssa was to be tried in the Sept of Baelor. And for that, she needed to be alive.

But, the moment they had reached the bottom of the stairs-they were stopped in their tracks.

"Podrick?" Bronn spluttered, staring in disbelief at the knight who had planted himself before them. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Pod looked scared out of his wits. He glanced over Bronn's shoulder at Alyssa Stone, who was still fighting to escape. Above their heads, Drogon let out another cry. Then…his face fell into reluctant concentration.

"Let go of her."

Bronn did a double take. He had to check Pod's lips to know that he had heard him correctly. "Do _what _now?"

"I said, let go of her." he repeated. His skin was the colour of milk, his eyes as wide as saucers. Sweat poured down his face as he looked back at Bronn. Once more-and getting closer by the second-the dragon's shrieks almost deafened them. "You've got about five seconds to let go, or you'll go with her."

Once more, Bronn opened his mouth to question what in the Seven Hells was going on…then, all at once-the penny dropped.

"Let her go." he echoed. As Drogon circled nearer and nearer-he felt his legs beginning to move of their own accord. "Let her go! Run!"

At once-every one of Bronn's men let go of their prisoner, and began to sprint away from her. Bronn did not need telling twice. With Podrick hot on his heels, he ran away from the Eyrie over the rocky terrain, the only thought in his mind being to get as far away from Alyssa Stone as humanly possible.

Meanwhile-Alyssa had turned in the opposite direction. Taking her chance, she began to flee towards the mountains, her long braid and charcoal cloak flying out behind her. Her arms and legs pumped faster than anyone's in the vicinity as she ran…

But she did not run for long.

Drogon circled down behind her, his long neck stretching out, his blank white eyes narrowed in hatred and fury. He let out a final cry, that echoed like an earthquake though the mountains. A heartbeat later…and there were only flames.


	53. The Weirwood Throne

**Hello all! Wow, thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! I appreciate you all so much. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy! xxx**

* * *

If there is one thing in the world that saps rebellion from the minds of men faster than seeing a dragon, Brandon had yet to find it.

When the king, for the first time in his life-physically, at least-entered the High Hall at the Eyrie, the sight that met his eyes almost made him lose his breath. As a reluctant Podrick pushed him in, his eyes flew directly to the Weirwood throne, which dominated the room. That was the way it had been designed, after all. But upon the throne, sitting perfectly upright, and dressed in the blue and grey hues of his house, was Robin. Lord Paramount of the Eyrie, and Prince of the Six Kingdoms; and he looked the part, every inch. Still, his beauty occasionally took Brandon by surprise. Since they had grown so close, he had thought proximity and familiarity would soften the impact of his good looks somewhat. But no such thing had happened. If anything…the opposite.

"Back where you belong, at last." he breathed, his heart glowing in his chest.

But Robin did not return his tenderness. From his throne, he looked down at Brandon with a most peculiar expression on his face. And it was not especially warm.

"I have had quite the adventure today." he snapped, his voice echoing disconcertingly around the chamber. "Kidnapped by my own men…bound and dragged to this hall against my will…" He paused, his lip curling. "Almost thrown through the Moon Door."

Brandon was silent for a moment as he took in these words. The moment he had come around from his flight at Drogon-the majesty and wonder of which he was still riding-after guiding the beast a safe distance away from the kingdoms, he had known all Robin had told him to be true. It had taken some hours to get Drogon far enough away for him to feel confident that the creature would not return. Being away from himself for so long never sat well with Brandon; the longer he flew, the more of a toll it took. And yet, as soon as he was ready, he had asked to be taken straight to his husband, to see that he was safe and well for himself. Trying to forget the spendor of flying through the air, as an ancient and mythical creature of magic…he concentrated all of his remaining energy on Robin.

Alyssa was dead, burned to cinders on the mountain rocks. After the advent of Drogon, the Vale would not soon think of turning from the crown again. And so, Brandon did not understand the frosty reception his husband greeted him with at all.

"I am all the gladder that the traitor is destroyed." he answered instead. "You were so brave when you faced her. I could not be more proud of-"

"A _dragon_?"

Robin's voice bounced off the very ceiling of the High Hall.

"You brought a dragon to these shores once again? To my home?"

Brandon felt a horrible swooping sensation inside. Never in his life had he seen Robin so upset with him. The feeling was so foreign to him, compared to Robin's usual sweetness and affection, that he did not have the first idea how to respond. "I obliterated our enemy. I ended the rebellion. It was my understanding that this was the objective."

"As would have Lord Tyrion's plans!" Robin thundered. "When did you stop trusting your Hand? Was it around the time you decided to bring dragons back to Westeros?" His face had turned quite pale with rage.

Feeling more trapped by the moment, Brandon flailed for something to say. "I did it to keep you safe." he murmured, rather quietly.

"For the entirety of your reign, you have been picking up the pieces of the Dragon Queen's conquest!" Robin shot at him, white-hot fury emanating from his very skin. "_We_ have been picking up the pieces! And yet, you jeopardise the lives of thousands of your citizens-_my_ citizens-without a second thought?"

"I knew what I was doing." As Robin's voice got louder, Brandon's got softer. He was utterly at a loss.

"But what if something had gone wrong?" Robin shouted, a pink tinge appearing on his cheeks. "What if you had lost control, even for a second? Drogon would have laid waste to the Vale! How many of our people would have died?" He sprang to his feet, rushing to the edge of the platform. "How could you think of doing something like this? And without warning a single one of the men who answered your call? Or even, gods forbid, sharing it with _me_!"

Brandon was altogether overwhelmed by this harsh line of questioning. His mind seemed to be working at a fraction of its regular speed. All he could do was gape up at his furious husband, searching desperately for a way to repair the perceived wrong, whatever it took…and yet, he could not help but feel somewhat wronged himself. If he had not brought Drogon, Alyssa may have escaped.

"I am sorry you feel that way," he said, trying to retain some semblance of dignity. "But I believe I acted in our best interests."

"The best interests of whom?" Robin spat venomously. "Certainly not the common people who would have suffered! Certainly not Lord Gendry, or Bronn, or any one of the men who risked their lives for you today! The men who _died_ today!" He practically glared down at him, shaking his head in disgust. "I feel that I do not even know you anymore…"

It was impossible to know what to do, or say, for the best. Brandon's logical brain could not quite compute Robin's anger at the fact that the rebellion had been ended and his kingdom returned to him. He tried to understand with all his might-but still, it seemed to the king that the only matter of importance was that Robin was still alive.

However. Deep down, in the last remaining human part of his soul, he knew that Robin was right.

Perhaps silence, for now, was the best policy.

Robin himself was still on his feet. Suddenly, his expression had grown frighteningly calm. He took a deep breath, gathering himself…before he spoke. "I think it would be best to remain in the Eyrie for a while. To piece my kingdom back together."

"Yes." Brandon nodded resolutely, happy to have something tangible to agree to. "Very wise. We shall-"

"_No_." Robin held up a hand to stop him. It was only then that Brandon truly registered the pain glistening in his husband's eyes. With Herculean effort, Robin forced himself to continue. "I meant…just me. Alone…" He paused, gulping-then set his face once again. "You need to go back to the capitol."

A few moments passed before Brandon truly comprehended what was being suggested. Instantly-he felt as if his heart had become a shard of ice in his chest. Physical pain ripped through his body as he looked up at the person he loved more than anyone else in the world, praying that, somehow, anyhow, he had misunderstood. "Robin?"

"I need some time." Robin said thickly. "I need to look after my kingdom. And I…I need some space."

Still, Brandon refused to believe it. "My love..." he whispered, blinking rapidly. "What are you suggesting?"

Now, Robin's face became entirely quiet. His eyes looked more agonized by the moment. "I don't know…" he whispered, looking straight down into Brandon's eyes. He was seconds from crumbling-but he held himself together by the seams. "I don't know…"

As the weight of Robin's words collapsed on him-they crushed him more than any amount of rocks from all the mountains in the world. He looked back at Robin, his blood thumping dizzyingly in his head. The idea of returning to the capitol without him…the idea of existing in the Red Keep without him…it was akin to asking him to cut out half of his heart, and leave it lying in the hills.

"Don't do this."

His lips had moved, and formed words without his explicit permission. The prayer had simply leapt from his lips, seeped in the worst kind of desperation.

"_Please_. Tell me how to make this right. Tell me exactly what you need, and it is done. _Anything_. Only don't do this. Don't do this to me, Robin. _Robin_?"

But Robin had made up his mind. In purest agony, he took his seat on the throne once again, and shook his head.

"Go home, Br..._Your Grace_." he murmured, casting his eyes down. "Just-" A deep, shuddering breath escaped him-and the words burned like the flames of a thousand dragons. "Just go."

* * *

Alone in the Eyrie, once again. The home he had known for most of his life...and yet, now, it may as well have been the home of a stranger.

Of course, Robin was not truly alone. The bulk of the crown forces had been left to protect him, along with Ser Podrick Payne of the kingsguard, who stood beside him at that very moment. There was so much to do…so much that the very thought of beginning gave Robin a headache.

Otherwise, the High Hall was completely empty.

It was so entirely silent. After the chaos of battle, the damning words of Alyssa, the terrible roars of the dragon…the quietness, the tranquility-was painful.

Robin could not bear it. He could not bear any of it. Finally, after so much strength, after Alyssa's death, after sending the love of his life away from him…the hardest thing he had ever had to do in his life…and yet, could he even call him such a thing any longer?

He did not know. He did not know anything any more.

It was too much. He was so filled with doubt and emotion that it could no longer be physically contained. At long last, he hid his face in his hands, and, bitterly, he sobbed his broken heart out.


	54. Work

**Hello all! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! I can't wait for you to read on. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy this! xxx**

* * *

"Lord Royce."

Robin watched from the Weirwood throne as Yohn Royce was escorted into the High Hall. As he did so, he realised just how long it had been since he had last seen him. Not since the day he had moved to the capitol; whereas, when he was still only the lord of the Vale, he had seen him regularly, sometimes every single day. He had almost forgotten just how enormous he was; seven feet tall and as proud as a mountain. But now, as he bowed low to Robin, there was a strange air about him. It was the air of a man who was about to be brought to the scaffold.

"Your Grace." came that familiar voice as he straightened up to face him. There was no fear in his world-weary eyes-and yet, there was a certain sense of doom. Robin saw him glance towards the Moon Door, waiting at his feet.

But first, Robin had much to say.

"When a marriage alliance was brokered between the Houses Arryn and Stark, it was done with the intention of strengthening the relationship between the Vale and the crown." He fixed Royce with an incredibly hard stare. "I think it is safe to say that your bastard tried to ensure the opposite."

Still, Royce betrayed no hint of distress, but he looked more resigned to his fate by the moment. "Your Grace," he began again, surveying Robin as one might survey a wayward child. His dignity was absolute; like an old elephant surveying his kingdom for the final time. "I want you to know that I had no part in this business. I counselled Alyssa against her actions, and I withdrew my men from her army. My loyalty to your father was never in question." He paused for a second, closing his eyes, as if waiting. "However. I take responsibility for the actions of my child."

A short silence followed.

Robin was unmoved. "You take responsibility. You take responsibility for Alyssa Stone's attempted murder of me, the Prince Consort of the Six Kingdoms and Lord Paramount of the Vale. You take responsibility for her attempted rebellion, for her treason and her betrayal."

Still, Royce was steadfast. But, as his gaze wondered once more to the Moon Door, his jaw visibly clenched.

"Kill me and have done with it."

Robin waited a few seconds, before he formulated his response. When he spoke, his voice became rather softer.

"You need not die today, Lord Royce."

As his words sunk in-Royce's head jerked up. There was not so much relief in his face as surprise. Indeed, to see Robin Arryn-_Robin Arryn_-pass up an opportunity to watch a man fly through the Moon Door was completely unprecedented.

"No." Robin shook his head slightly, resting his hands on the arms of the throne. "Instead, I demand that you bend the knee to me, and to House Arryn, once again, and swear your fealty in perpetuity." His tone became rather warning. "If not…I am certain there is a place for you in the sky cells to consider your choice more carefully."

Still, Royce's eyes were wide in disbelief. But when he answered, he retained a careful poise. "That won't be necessary, Your Grace."

"I'm glad to hear it," Robin looked grimly satisfied. "The loss of your daughter is punishment enough. I wish you to work with me, rather than against me, to make the Vale a better place." He paused. "My experiences in the Kings Landing have given me plenty of ideas. I will bring clean water to every one of my people, from the Fingers to Wickenden. Furthermore, I intend to improve the conditions in the slums of Gulltown. No one in the Vale will be left behind while I am their lord."

Royce could not help but look impressed. He gave Robin a curt nod. "For what it is worth, Your Grace, I heard wonderful things from the capitol about you. I am sure I do not need to tell you how proud your parents would have been."

"You do not." said Robin shortly. "I know full well."

Royce looked up at the prince for a long while, silently considering him in all his new maturity. There was a quiet sort of pride in those old eyes. "I hope you understand that all I ever wanted…all any of us ever wanted…was for you to make us all eat our words."

Once more, Robin was unaffected by such praise. He regarded Royce with harsh eyes, a slight edge creeping into his tone. "I hope you have not yet eaten your fill of them, my lord. Now. Bend the knee."

Once Royce had left the High Hall, Robin sank back into the throne, curling into himself. Even with Podrick standing guard before him, he felt more alone than ever.

It had only been a couple of days…and yet, he missed Brandon with an intensity that suggested he had been away for many years. Every night, as he curled up in his old bedchamber, with a huge bed all to himself…he missed him so much that his heart felt as though it was hanging together only by a thread…

And yet-Robin forced himself to get to his feet, to sweep through the Eyrie to his private study with Podrick hot on his heels, to sit down at his desk and throw himself into work. He had to keep going. He could not stop, even for a moment, or else he knew he would weep, and if he ever started again, he did not know if his tears would ever cease.

The warm security blanket that had been wrapped around his heart ever since Brandon had told him that he loved him felt as though it had been violently ripped away, leaving him cold and exposed. Every time he thought of his husband, every time he longed for his arms…he reminded himself of Drogon's shrieks echoing through the mountains…

How could he ever trust Brandon again?

Work. Nothing but work. And he could not stop.

* * *

Knock.

Tyrion did not wait to be invited before opening the door. Beyond it, he found Brandon the Broken, sitting listlessly by the window in his private chamber. He had returned to the Red Keep only minutes previously. However, the Hand severely doubted that the look in his eyes was mere weariness from the week on the road.

There had been rumours, of course, almost straight away. Tyrion had first heard that Brandon had left the Eyrie without his husband only the evening after it had happened. The royal couple parting on such hostile terms would surely have caused quite a stir throughout the kingdoms…had the news not been thoroughly overshadowed by the advent of Drogon.

It was almost impossible to know how to proceed. But it was Tyrion's job to do so. And so, feeling that he would need the full cup of wine in his hand more than ever, he braced himself.

"So we had the Dragon Queen…" he began, closing the door behind him with his other hand. "And now, we have the king who can "become" a dragon at will…"

Brandon barely reacted. He simply gazed out of the window, his expression absolutely unreadable.

"Well," Tyrion gave a slight cough. "We can safely say that none of the other kingdoms will make a break for freedom any time soon. If only because they are terrified."

Still-nothing but silence from the king.

"If you had consulted me…" said Tyrion, taking a few steps closer to him. "I would have advised you against it. _Vehemently _so." He paused. "I can only hope that this does not entirely destroy your reputation…Speaking of reputation…" Now, he approached the matter as delicately as he possibly could. "You seem to have returned from this expedition minus your more popular half…"

In the corner of his left eye, Brandon gave the smallest twitch.

"I do not need to remind you how wildly popular Robin is with the common people. If you lose him, you lose them." Tyrion took another step towards him, skirting around to his front and forcing Brandon to meet his eyes. "We must begin to work immediately to win back the favour of the kingdoms. And you _must_ bring Robin back into the fold!"

It was only then that Tyrion truly looked into Brandon's eyes. Ordinarily, he tried to avoid his gaze as much as possible; being caught in the icy glare of the young king was an experience akin to being thrown into cold water. But now…as he looked into them, Tyrion could see nothing but wretchedness. The king was in shock and misery in equal measures. Without Robin, he looked somehow divided, as if he were only a fraction of himself. For all the world, sitting alone in his private chamber, he looked like a lost child.

Tyrion felt a slight tugging sensation inside him. He remembered how distraught Brandon had been when he had thought Robin dead. To hear such a person cry as he had done was truly harrowing. With a softened voice, and a great deal of pity in his heart, he sighed.

"Look," he began, holding out his cup of wine. "I know you do not ordinarily partake. But I think such an occasion might warrant-"

But he did not have time to finish his sentence. For Brandon had grabbed the cup with both hands, and began to drink like a horse at a trough. Less than half a minute later, all that remained were the dregs.


	55. Heights

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to all of you who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! Incredibly kind of you. Stay tuned for another chapter tomorrow! Very exciting things to come...xxx**

* * *

Brandon was of the North. Even his new identity, as the Three Eyed Raven, was entirely of the North. He had thought, when he first moved permanently to Kings Landing, to take his place in the Red Keep as king, that it could never truly feel like home. The warm weather, the sea breezes, the heady mix of perfume and flowers…it was as foreign to him as the depths of Essos.

However, since his wedding, with Robin around, he felt for the first time that he was finally settling in. With someone he loved to spend time with, to take meals with, to sleep beside, he had begun to find a home for himself in this strange southern land. Robin's smile, his laugh, his familiar smell, the way he chatted for hours about nothing in particular, the way he threw his arms around him and squeezed the life out of him…it was so much more than some walls and a roof.

But now, without him, the Red Keep felt vast, empty, and silent. In his absence, the very stones were cold and lifeless once more.

He had been desperate to journey back up to the Eyrie himself. _Damn_ how difficult travelling was, _damn_ everything to the Seven Hells, he felt that he would crawl there if it meant getting Robin back. But his Hand had persuaded him against the idea. And now was certainly not the time to ignore Tyrion's advice again…

As the days without him turned into weeks, Brandon was simply going through the motions. He heard grievances. He sat on small council meetings. But whenever he could escape, he could only ever be found sitting on the battlements in his usual place. Only now, he only ever sat, staring vacantly out to sea. In the numb depths of his misery, he could not even find it in himself to fly any more.

He prayed, harder than he had ever prayed for anything in his life, that Tyrion had known what he was doing.

* * *

"It is quite incredible, really…" Tyrion mused, rubbing his forehead hard with his fingers. "When Brandon came to the throne, one could never have imagined that he would one day be ruled, not only by a force outside of the supernatural, but by _Robin Arryn_." He sighed. "His apparent incapability to refuse Robin a thing in the small council chamber is only slightly less irritating than this state of catatonic despair…"

"Not to be rude or anything." Bronn leaned over the desk, setting down his wine cup with a small thud. "But I would give you a hundred thousand gold dragons to talk about literally anything else."

Despite himself, the corner of Tyrion's mouth cocked up. "No you wouldn't."

"Why do you always have to be right?" Bronn rolled his eyes. "But it's true. I'm stick to the back teeth of this saga…The way I see it, whether Robin flies back home or rots up there in the Eyrie, it's all the same to you and I. As long as no more fucking fire-breathing monsters show up on the horizon, we can carry on running this mess of a country, happy as pigs in crap."

Tyrion shot him a very serious look. "I wish I had your outlook on life. It would make everything so much simpler…" He drained his own cup, feeling in desperate need of an afternoon nap. Was he getting so old already? "We have already done all we can. All we can do now is wait."

Bronn made a low whistling sound, folding his arms. "I won't be holding my breath."

* * *

Robin could never have believed that he would get a better night's sleep in a tent than he did in his own bed at the Eyrie. In spite of this, now, he could scarcely get any rest at all. In his cold, empty bed, he tossed and turned all night long, trying everything in his power to fall asleep. But the bliss of oblivion simply would not come to him.

During the day, it was much easier. From the moment he rose to the moment he retired, he simply threw himself into work. He did not even stop for meals, preferring to eat at his desk while reading over reports or making plans. Truly, it was Podrick who suffered the most. Bound to guard him, he was kept awake until all hours of the night, while Robin avoided going to bed.

The leaps and bounds he had already made towards better public health in the Vale were quite remarkable, even if he said so himself. Especially after only two weeks. Two whole weeks…

He did not like to think about it. At night, as he lay wide awake, staring up at the ceiling, he could not help himself. It was bad enough that he was forced to dwell on such terrible, painful things all night without having to think about them all day as well…

One thing was certain. Even as a child, when he had burst into tears at the drop of a hat, he had not realised just how many tears a person was capable of producing.

Silence.

As Robin sat on the Weirwood throne, waiting to receive reports from Gulltown regarding the building of his newest well, he tapped his feet against the stone floor, the sheer quietness tormenting him.

"Ser Podrick?"

"Yes, Your Grace?" came the voice of the kingsguard by his side. Though he stood absolutely upright, his stance never wavering, showing every inch of Brienne of Tarth's training-he could not help but sound tired.

"Do you know any songs?"

Podrick frowned slightly, looking incredulous. "Any songs, Your Grace?"

"I know you are not my fool." Robin moaned, the noiselessness almost driving him insane. "I know I ought not to ask you. But you are rumoured to have a wonderful singing voice. And I should really like to hear it."

Podrick was silent for a few moments. Then, shaking his head slightly, he cleared his throat. "Er…As you command, Your Grace…" He licked his lips, then coughed slightly once again, before beginning. "_High in the halls of the kings who are gone_-"

"_No_!" Robin held up his hands, a swooping sensation in his stomach. For the sake of the gods, if he never heard Jenny of Oldstones again, it would be too soon. "Not that one. Please-sing something else."

Slightly put out, and yet bound by duty, Podrick tried once again. "Er-_Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done_-"

But before he could go any further, an interruption arrived in the High Hall in the shape of a squire.

"Your Grace!" said the lad, bowing so low that his head almost bounced off the floor. It was almost certainly no accident that the heightened levels of respect had correlated with the advent of Drogon. Robin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hated to think that, by association with Brandon, he struck fear into the hearts of those he wanted to serve. It was with a heavy heart, and this sentiment in mind, that he smiled kindly down at the boy.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Someone to see you, my prince!" the squire called up. "From the capitol!"

At this-Robin felt an unbearable sinking feeling, as if all his insides had dropped out of him and splashed onto the floor. Of course, this was inevitable-sooner or later, someone was always going to be sent. Frankly, he had been surprised that Brandon had left it a whole two weeks before…At the mere thought of his husband, his heart began to hurt as if someone was squeezing it in a vice grip. All those feelings that occupied him during the night, all the agony he channelled all his energy into dying to suppress, threatened to crash over him like a tidal wave and drown him.

"I-I don't want to see them!" Robin stammered, his voice already growing thick. "Please-send them away immediately!"

"They said you'd say that." the lad answered, his voice fluting up into the rafters. "But that I was to let them in anyway. They only want to talk to you, Your Grace!"

"Well, I don't want to talk to them! And how dare they give me orders in my own hall!" Robin cried, trying to swallow the lump that had already anchored itself in his throat. "Send them away! And if they will not leave, take them to the sky cells!"

"Please don't do that, Your Grace." came a calm, sheepish voice from behind the squire.

Slowly, an earnest, robed figure with a long chain around his neck shuffled into the high hall. His round face looked up at Robin with gentle respect-but his eyes were rather sad.

"I'm terribly afraid of heights." said Samwell Tarly.


	56. A Letter

**Hello all! I'm so sorry for posting at an unsociable hour (British time anyway!). Thank you endlessly for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

As Robin looked down at Grand Maester Tarly, standing brazenly and without permission in the middle of his hall…he felt entirely divided. On the one hand, as prince of six kingdoms and lord paramount of the Vale, he knew that he ought to make good on his threat. If he did not imprison Samwell now, he risked looking weak. However…there was something in that earnest face, so filled with good intention, that he could not bring himself to do it.

There was only one reason Sam was here. He had come to try to persuade Robin to return to the capitol. To return, in other words, to his husband.

"You Grace." he said, bowing low. A small, sad smile spread across his face. "It is good to see you."

Robin tried to harden his heart. "You shouldn't have come." he said, keeping his voice carefully blank. "Whatever you have to say, I do not want to hear it."

Sam did not look surprised by this statement. He simply smiled sadly up at him. Rarely did Robin meet anyone who was so genuinely void of ulterior motives. Such a person was especially scarce in politics.

"I don't have all that much to say, to be honest." he admitted. "There isn't a hell of a lot for you to listen to. I would never presume to believe that I could change your mind."

"That's right!" Robin's voice rose a fraction. "You couldn't!"

Still, Sam looked completely calm. "I wouldn't dream of it…But I would still like to see you, all the same, if His Grace would be so good as to allow it." He looked around the vast High Hall delicately. "Perhaps there is a place we could speak in private…?"

"No!" Robin thundered. He could feel his blood growing hot. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it right here! In front of Podrick!"

Behind him, Podrick himself was looking more uncomfortable by the moment. There was nothing in the world he wanted to do less than be brought into the situation in front of him. Once again, he was caught in the middle of the king's marriage and was duty bound not to walk away.

"Alright then." Sam nodded politely at Pod, trying to diffuse the tension. "As you would have it, Your Grace. Right here it is…" He coughed slightly, burying his hands in the pockets of his robes, before he began. "I won't beat about the bush. I have come as an envoy from the crown."

Robin made a dismissive grunting sound, trying to ignore how fast his heart had begun to beat in his chest. "Tell me, then. What is it that His Grace the King has bid you say to me?"

"Nothing at all." said Sam truthfully. "He hasn't told me to say a word on his behalf…." He paused. "You are very much missed in the capitol, my prince. Your absence is keenly felt by everyone. Not least by the king…but I know you don't want to hear that."

"No! I don't!" Robin lied, leaning forward in his seat. Despite himself, he could not help but enjoy hearing that people were missing him. Still, he squared his shoulders. "How much can His Grace truly be missing me if he has sent you here in his place! Not-not that I would have let him into my hall at all!" he added quickly, catching himself.

"Believe me," Sam raised an eyebrow. "He wanted to come. Wild horses shouldn't have stopped him…but Lord Tyrion and I managed it. We thought you needed some space."

At this, Robin could not help but feel a small serge of gratefulness. "Good." he murmured, trying to look resolute. Still…a part of him that he did not want to admit existed ached constantly from the lack of his husband. Despite everything…how wonderful it would be to see Brandon again…but Robin pushed these thoughts firmly out of his mind.

"I don't know what game His Grace thinks he is playing," he went on, disdainfully referring to Brandon only by his title. "but if he thinks that I am going to forget about a dragon attack just because he sends his Grand Maester to proclaim to miss me, then he is sorely mistaken!"

"I know!" said Sam, holding up both hands in a display of surrender. However, as he did so…something else began to creep into his expression. Something altogether darker… "Believe you me, Your Grace, I feel exactly the same way as you do."

At this, Robin frowned slightly, confused. "You do?"

Sam lowered his hands, stuffing them once more into the pockets of his robes. A pink tinge appeared on his round cheeks, and a thin mist seemed to cover his pupils. Very quietly, he spoke. "That dragon killed my brother. And my father too."

The words sunk into Robin like a great ship. He had never considered before that Samwell Tarly might have a life outside books and medicine. Forgetting why he had come here for a moment, intense pity tugged at his heartstrings. "I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know."

Sam gave another tiny, sad smile. "Thank you for saying so. I can't say I was close to my father, but I hate that he died the way he did. And as for Dickon…" His voice trailed away, crumbling under the weight of the grief the words carried. But, after a moment of silence-he gave a cough, and forced himself to continue. "The point I am trying to make is that we were all shaken by Drogon. We are all furious, and scared, and all any one of us can do is watch the skies, and pray to all the gods that he never comes back. And no one understands that better than Brandon."

At the sound of his name, Robin felt an unpleasant lunge inside. However, that aching part of him felt as though it was made of icy knives.

"He might not say as much," Sam powered on determinedly, nodding grimly. "But I know he regrets what he did. Bitterly. More than he has ever regretted anything in his life. He is more sorry than he can possibly express…And when maesters like me write the history of Brandon's reign in years to come, they will say that this was his worst mistake."

Robin sat up a little straighter. The thought of Brandon silently torturing himself almost made the ice in his heart melt. Still-he built his walls up as high as he possibly could, trying with all his might to remain cold. "That doesn't mean he can take it back."

"I know." Sam agreed. "It doesn't. But let me tell you one thing…I haven't seen him in this bad a state since Alyssa Stone poisoned you."

At the memory of his closest brush with death, Robin felt his belly stir with sickness. He knew that, all the time he had slept, Brandon had not left his side for a moment. He had seen Brandon's elation and relief when he had managed to awaken. But he did not know what had happened between the minute the poison had touched his lips, and the minute he had opened his eyes.

"When Brandon thought you were dead…" Sam blew a great deal of air from between his lips. "Well….I never thought I'd see anyone cry like that._ Especially_ not-"

"_Wait_."

Robin held out his hands, his heart catching in his throat.

"Bran_ cried_?"

Something told him that Sam had been hoping for this reaction. Still, he played it extremely coolly. "He did. And if hearts made a noise when they broke…I'm prepared to bet that it would sound a lot like that."

Robin was shaken to his core. He simply could not believe it. Bran-_his_ Bran-_crying_? The very thought was so ridiculous that he wanted to laugh. And yet…as he looked into Sam's face, he knew that the man spoke nothing but the truth. There was something extraordinarily devastating about the thought of such a man breaking down…Oh Gods…had Brandon the Broken, the man he had thought heartless for so long, really wept for him?

It was getting harder and harder to keep face. At the very thought of Bran's tears, he wanted to cry too.

_No_. Summoning the last of his strength and willpower, he blinked hard. "That doesn't change anything." he insisted, scarcely convincing himself. "If this is all you have to say-"

"Don't worry. I'm finished. I've said my piece." Sam pressed his lips together firmly. But then…he reached deep into the pocket of his robe. "But His Grace hasn't said his yet." From the pocket, slowly, he pulled out a scroll, sealed with the image of a direwolf in red wax.

Robin looked down at the scroll in some surprise. A memory stirred…he remembered Lord Tyrion entering the High Hall to broker their betrothal. He, too, had come bearing a letter from the king…written hastily, and with reluctance, it had read:

_My Lord,_

_I would have you come to the capitol at your earliest convenience to discuss the joining of our houses. _

_Sincerely, Brandon of House Stark…_

And now…here was another letter.

Did he want to read it?

Did he dare to read it?

Oh Bran…his poor, dear husband, suffering alone in the capitol, wracked with guilt and missing him…and Robin had used to take such pleasure in the knowledge that only he could comfort him…

He still loved him. For the sake of the gods, as much as he hated himself for it, as much as he would have given anything to simply switch off his heart…he loved him.

It was this love that made Robin rise to his feet. He hurried down the stairs towards the grand maester, hating himself for doing so, and yet utterly powerless to stop. Within a few moments, he had ripped the letter from Samwell's hands, broken the seal, and stood back to read those lines of familiar black writing…and, as he did so, with every word, the ache inside him grew into agony. As he read...tears fell from his eyes like rivers.

* * *

_My dearest Robin, _

_I have heard every word ever spoken, in every language ever conceived. And yet, I lack the vocabulary to express how truly sorry I am. I would give anything, save you, to undo the grievous wrong I did. Knowing that I cannot do such a thing is yet another pain I must bear for the rest of my life. But knowing that I hurt you in the process, you, who I would gladly give my kingdom to protect…that pain is unbearable. _

_I will not ask for your forgiveness. I know I do not deserve it. _

_Lord Tyrion believes that I am writing this letter to try to persuade you to return to the capitol. But I confess that I cannot bring myself to do so. I respect you, and your choices, far too much. Though your absence is excruciating, if you never wish to return to me, I swear to you that I will understand. I called you to the capitol once against your will. I know that I married you against your will, initially at least. And I am damned if I will force you to come back to me against your will. I will not keep you like a bird in a cage. I love you far too much for that. _

_If I must say goodbye to you a second time, something I have lived in fear of since I almost lost you to the nightshade…then I do so with resolution, knowing in my heart that you will be happier without me. I cannot say that it fills me with joy. Indeed, I doubt that I would ever feel joyful again. But I will do so. This must be your choice, Robin. _

_I understand what people think of me. I know how difficult I am to love. I know I am repellent in so many ways, ways most people would find irreconcilable. But, from the bottom of my heart, my love, I thank you for seeing into me with a Sight even I could only dream of. I hope you know how much you are loved, and how desperately you will be missed. But I hope you also know that you have my respect, and my best wishes, ever more. _

_Now, you understand my heart. And it is yours, always. _

_With absolute respect, and my deepest love, _

_Just Bran Stark _


	57. Home

**Hello everyone! I am so sorry I didn't update yesterday! I was unexpectedly busy and did not have time to write. So sorry! Promise there will be another chapter tomorrow! It is so difficult to believe we are almost sixty chapters in, and so close to the ending! Thank you so much for sticking with me all this time-I really appreciate every one of you! Hope you enjoy this xxx**

* * *

There was no ceremony, no ringing of the bells, no grand entrance. There was nothing of the sort. There was only a ship, which docked in the capitol at dawn. The prince and the knight made their way through the streets of Kings Landing under cover of the half-light, watching the sky turn from pink to blue above their heads as they journeyed uphill to the Red Keep.

Robin could not help but feel heartened at the sight of the Keep, which he had begun to think of as home. It was certainly pleasant to return. However, it was the thought of exactly who he would find within its walls that filled him with anxiousness.

It had been three weeks since he had last seen the king. Walking into their marital home now, he felt almost as nervous as he had done when he had first arrived here. It seemed almost impossible that, less than a year ago, there had been a life before their wedding. A life before Brandon.

Robin did not waste a moment. It was better to get the inevitable out of the way as soon as he possibly could, so that his suffering was as brief as possible. And so, with Podrick following close behind, he hurried through the corridors of the castle, up staircases and around corners, until he found himself once more in the royal apartments. Upon the wall, he saw images of Brandon's personalised three-eyed direwolf, and his own Arryn falcon, represented again and again. The new blue and grey hues were a world away from the old Lannister reds and golds. They were far more calming. And yet, as he found himself much too quickly standing outside Brandon's private study, he felt all that was the opposite of serene.

Without knocking, he simply twisted the doorknob in his hand, and pushed it open.

There, gazing out of the window, with his back to the door, was Brandon.

Robin felt his heart rise so high in his throat that it threatened to choke him.

"Hello, Robin." came that familiar monotonous voice. He did not even turn around. Addressing the back of his head, Robin felt distinctly ill at ease. Still, his heart was racing in an unpleasant, dizzying fashion, as if he were about to leap from a cliff.

"I hope I didn't startle you." he said, groping for something to break the silence.

"I knew you were coming," said Brandon vaguely, his voice even mistier than usual. "I saw you board your ship at Gulltown."

"Ah…" Robin had almost forgotten what Brandon could be like. "Of course."

"But you are here." As soon as the words left his lips-Brandon's head turned in a strangely owl-like fashion. At once, Podrick, who until now had been awkwardly occupying the doorway, rushed forward, and turned the king around to face his husband.

"Thank you." Brandon said quietly to his kingsguard. "Please. Give us the room."

Without needing to be told twice, Podrick closed the door behind him, taking up his position outside to guard the royal couple as they tried to make sense of their predicament. Indeed, as Robin finally looked into those dark, empty eyes…he found his tongue had tied itself in knots. Still, his desperation to fill the terrible silence was overwhelming.

"I came back for the sake of the realm." he ejaculated, rather too loudly for the size of the room.

Brandon gave a small, curt nod. "I am grateful."

"Understand that I have not forgiven you." said Robin, deciding that absolute honesty was the best policy.

"Completely," Brandon agreed, his eyes still boring into Robin with a new kind of intensity. As he looked deeper and deeper into them, Robin swore he could see a hint of purest grief. "I will never ask you to forgive me for such a thing." The tone of his voice was weighted heavily.

Robin pressed his lips together. His heart had begun to slow to a more reasonable pace; and yet, he still felt sick. There was so much he felt he ought to say…and yet, the words would not come. Still, he tried hard to make himself comprehendible. "But I want to find a way to move forward from this." he said, attempting to keep such a sea of emotion from his tone.

"That is all we can do now." Brandon murmured, nodding once more in total agreement.

The conversation appeared to be over. Robin felt that his return to the Red Keep, after their period of separation, ought to have been far more dramatic. Not simply this early morning meeting in the royal study. Should there have been embraces, tears, kisses? He wasn't sure he could bring himself to engage in any of that. Not yet. Perhaps not for some time. And yet…Robin touched the small lump in the pocket of his cloak, listening to the soft rustle of the paper against his fingers. Since the moment he had received it, he had not set Brandon's second letter down.

He had to say something, at least.

"Bran?" He took a step forward, lowering his voice almost to a whisper. He had not spoken his husband's name aloud in so long…it tasted foreign on his tongue. Those staring brown eyes, which hid such grief within them… "Your letter was truly beautiful. For all your protestations that you are not a poet, reading such a letter…" The smallest hint of a smile, his first smile in three weeks, played around the corner of his lips. "You had me fooled." He paused, before becoming serious once more. "I must thank you most of all for respecting my mind, and my autonomy. No one has ever done that for me before."

Brandon was silent for a moment, taking Robin's words to heart, before he responded. "I have told you many times that I am not a poet. I spoke only the truth…"

Robin could not help but feel a tiny glow ignite inside him. Pure, unadulterated honesty…that was Brandon's poetry.

"…but I am glad that my words got through to you." the king continued. Very slightly, the grief in his eyes had diminished. Indeed…the very beginnings of a shine were beginning to eclipse it. "The knowledge that you came here of your own will, that you made the decision to return, gives me more joy than I can possibly express."

At that moment, it took every fibre of Robin's being not to damn everything and throw himself into his husband's arms. He wanted so desperately to be held once more, to be touched once more…but he held himself back, retaining a careful dignity. After all, he still had a point to make. "Things cannot simply go back to the way they were. I am going to need some time."

"Of course," Only a person who knew Brandon as well as Robin did could have detected the merest hint of warmth in his tone. "Take all the time you need."

"But perhaps we can move on." said Robin, stronger now. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and nodded bracingly.

Once more, Brandon regarded his husband in silence for a long moment, studying him as if he were a particularly complex piece of art. Then-with that same meagre hint of mildness-"I hope so."

* * *

Robin curled up alone in his old bedchamber at the Red Keep, his knees hugged miserably to his chest. Only down the hallway, just feet away, Brandon was similarly alone beneath his furs. It would have been foolish for Robin to assume that he was sleeping. No. Tonight was not for resting. Tonight was for staring up at the canopy above the bed, and trying desperately to feel drowsy until the sun rose once more.

How much had changed. And yet, in his heart, even after a dragon had threatened to tear them apart-he found that astonishingly little had altered. So little that being so close to Brandon, and yet so far away, was sheer torture. Despite everything Brandon had put him through, despite everything…he ached for him so desperately that it was a wonder his body could continue to work at all.

And tomorrow was his nineteenth name day.


	58. The Nameday

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading. Special thanks to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your kind words. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy this! xxx**

* * *

It was mid-morning before Robin opened his eyes. These days, it was highly unusual for him to sleep so late; since Brandon had always risen early, he too had fallen into that routine, so that they woke up and retired at the same time each day. Robin buried his face in his pillows, closing out the bright sunlight of the capitol that streamed through the curtains. Miserably, he recalled the cosy little morning chats, droopy-eyed and croaky from sleep, that he had grown accustomed to. To wake up alone and in silence never got easier. Still, if he could not rise late on his nameday, when could he?

After washing and dressing without haste, Robin found himself wandering rather aimlessly throughout the Red Keep. Of course, he had not told anyone he was returning, and so there were no meetings to be had, nothing to attend, nothing to do at all. As he strolled through the empty throne room, he cast his mind back to his previous namedays, never able to recall one which had been quite so _quiet_. As a child, he recalled presents, lemon cake and a tremendous fuss made of him by his mother. Even more of a fuss than usual, if that was possible. But it was the presents he had looked forward to the most. He had always loved presents. Uncle Petyr's visits to the Vale always began with a gift of some description. If he could bring himself to think critically about his beloved uncle, he considered that the motivations behind such spoiling may have been more nefarious than he had realised…but he did not want to think about that today. He had enjoyed the presents, which had generally been rather bird themed; indeed, this had inspired his own first gift to Brandon, the magnificent falcon. The falcon that had, inadvertently, wound up saving his life…

It was strange to think of Uncle Petyr now. As a child, he had lapped up everything he had told him, and followed his advice to the letter, especially if it arrived accompanied with a present. After his mother had died, he had considered him the closest thing to a parent he had left. When word had arrived from Winterfell that Uncle Petyr had been executed, had wept over the ravenscroll. To that day, part of him still did not believe that Uncle Petyr had truly murdered his mother. Even though his logical side knew it to be fact, as he thought of the man he had looked up to all his life, he could not bring himself to face the truth.

As he had grown older, his namedays had been spent in Gulltown, with Elliana, Bastyn, and an assortment of others. He knew that he paid them for their time, but they always had a wonderful knack of making him feel special. He _had_ been special. He was the lord of the Vale, and everything had been so simple…

The point was that Robin had always looked forward to his nameday. But now, as he meandered about the Keep, he realised just how little he had even thought about it before now. It did not feel like his nameday; there was no excitement, no anticipation, no nothing. It felt exactly like every other day.

As he continued his wanderings, Robin considered the other, elephant-weighted matter sitting on his mind. He did not know, truly he did not, whether he was subconsciously planning his route to avoid bumping into his husband, or hoping with all his heart that he would see him. Certainly, every time he turned a corner, his stomach flipped over. And yet, he found himself, for no particular reason, beginning to climb up the spiral staircase of a turret, towards the sunlight of the battlements above…

He loathed himself for pining after the husband who had done such a terrible thing…and yet, this was the same husband who had written the beautifully tender letter he still carried in his pocket. Although his angry side wanted nothing more than to toss it into the fire, all the rest of him could not bear to part with it. Frequently, against his will, his fingers seemed find their way into his pocket, stroking the inky words as he played them out over and over again in his mind…when he had first married Brandon, he could never have imagined that the king could even feel such things, let alone set them down in writing. How much both of them had changed.

All of a sudden…Robin's heart stopped.

There, sitting in his usual place, staring out to sea, was Brandon. He was dressed in his customary black, his hands folded in his lap. For the first time since their separation, Robin had the chance to properly look at his husband for a while. He sat upright in his chair, hold his head in the same manner he always did, his eyes cast straight forward. There was something about his entire being that was simply…ethereal. Every inch of him seemed to announce that he was not quite of this world. It was an aura that Robin initially found intimidating and cold. But now…it felt like home.

"Hello, Robin." he said, without turning around.

It was still horribly awkward. But, despite himself, Robin was pleased to see him.

"Hello." he muttered back. Slowly, he walked towards him, stopping only when he stood by his husband's side. Then, he turned, and cast his own eyes seaward. There was silence for a short while as the pair stood next to one another, regarding the horizon and wondering how on earth it had come to this.

Finally…Brandon's voice broke into Robin's thoughts.

"Many happy returns."

Robin was somewhat surprised. "You remembered?" he asked, turning his head slightly.

"Of course I remembered." Brandon's flat monotone was just so…familiar.

"Oh yes." Robin rolled his eyes slightly. The tiniest smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "Because _you_ know everything." It was almost friendly.

"No," At last, Brandon turned to face him. "Not like that. Of course I know when your nameday is."

At this, Robin felt slightly guilty for his little joke. "Well. Thank you." He gave a slight cough. "That means a lot."

Another period of silence followed. Far away in the distance, Robin could see the sun glittering on the white-capped waves of the sea. It was a beautifully warm morning. Since his recent time in the Vale, he found himself dressing ever more resolutely in his old clothes, enjoying the shades of grey and blue, the Arryn broach upon his chest to keep his cloak in place. All the same, it was not the most appropriate clothing for the climate of Kings Landing. Still, he simply could not bring himself to dress any other way. He was of the Vale, through and through…just as his husband was of the North. Both of them would always be strangers in this sun baked city. But, as Robin looked down at Brandon, he knew that they would never be strangers to one another. To keep such an uncomfortable distance from him felt as unnatural as water flowing up a hill.

It was in this mindset that Robin's hand reached out of its own accord, and came to rest gently on Brandon's shoulder.

Brandon did not react immediately to his touch. It was as if he was giving Robin a moment to be sure that he had honestly meant to touch him at all. But, after a moment, when Robin did not pull away…he turned his head once more to look at him. In his eyes, usually so harsh…there was a certain softness that no one else would have been able to see.

"Before…well, before Alyssa…" Brandon began. "I did have a plan for today."

Once more, Robin was rendered quite shocked. "You did?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Yes." Brandon said. That softness had yet to fade away, and Robin found himself basking in it. "Grand Maester Tarly and I had been in discussions about it, and we formulated a bit of an idea…" But, before he could go any further, he stopped himself. "I know such a thing would be inappropriate, given the circumstances. I shan't force you to do anything at all today."

Robin's interest-and curiosity-was more than captured. "Perhaps-perhaps we both need something to focus on." He bit his lip, fidgeting slightly. "I don't know what's going on any more. Everything is so confusing. Frankly, some sort of a plan would frankly be very comforting."

The slightest hint of a shine appeared in those dark eyes. "Only if you are certain." Brandon insisted, hardly daring to believe it.

"I am certain." At last-Robin could not help but smile. Perhaps there was a chance that, over time, things might-if not go back to exactly the way they had been before-attain some kind of similarity. Standing with the man he still loved with all his soul, suddenly, it seemed more than possible.

"Well…" Brandon was saying, an edge to his tone. "What a man sows on his nameday, he reaps all year."

"I have heard that."

"And as such, I was going to ask for the honour of accompanying you…to Flea Bottom."


	59. Pride

**Hello everyone! I am so sorry for not posting yesterday. Yet again, I became incredibly busy, and I really do apologise. Thank you so much for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoy the penultimate chapter today! Stay tuned for the final chapter tomorrow! I shall be extremely sad to see this story go, and I will do proper thank yous tomorrow. For now, thank you for reading, and especially to those who have fave-d, followed, and reviewed! Your kind words mean so much. I hope you enjoy this! xxx**

* * *

It had been some time since Robin had last walked through the streets of the capitol, his dark cloak pulled low over his face. What was familiar was Podrick walking a pace behind him, looking all around the cobbled roads for signs of danger. What was unfamiliar…was the fact that he was pushing the Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm along with them.

Brandon did not look troubled by the surroundings, though he could not quite slip unnoticed through the streets as Robin could. The addition of a black hooded cloak did not compensate for the fact that he was the most recognisable person in the kingdoms. Still, over the course of their journey, they were entirely undisturbed. Perhaps this had something to do with the collection of armed guards following them.

Still, Robin did not know quite how to proceed when it came to his marriage. His head reminded him over and over of Drogon, and how furious he had been. But his heart wanted nothing more than to give itself over entirely to loving Brandon once more…Concentrating on keeping his head down, and putting one foot in front of the other, Robin continued on, trying to tune out everything but the thud of the guards' boots behind him and the busy white noise of the capitol in the morning.

At last, the royal party arrived in Flea Bottom as quietly as they possibly could. As Robin looked around him at the slum that had so disgusted him upon his first visit, he could not help but feel an acute sense of satisfaction. The stifling stench had significantly dispelled, following the closing of the open sewers. There were still beggars and vagrants to be found on the sides of the roads, but their numbers had noticeably decreased. However, perhaps the most significant change was the well-the "Robin's Nest" in the middle of the square, providing clean water and better health for the population. It was as if one could feel it in the air-where there had once been the pestilence of disease, there was clarity, and the hope of something better.

"What you have achieved here is incredible." said Brandon suddenly, as they made their way towards the well. He looked up at the crude robin carving, set in the stone. "I hope you understand how proud I am."

Delivered in Brandon's monotone, the words were difficult to take seriously. But Robin could not help himself. At such praise, his heart sang in his chest. Still, he forced himself to cast his gaze down. "I don't know. There is still so much to do."

"And I have every confidence that you will do all of it." Brandon glanced cautiously around them, aware that they should not stay in the same place for too long. Their guards had already attracted some funny looks. But, casting such thoughts from his mind, he turned back to Robin. "The wells you have built will stand long after you and I are dead. As consort, you have contributed something truly worthwhile to the kingdoms. Something far more important than any war or conquest could possibly be."

Robin was so unused to such verbal declarations from his husband that he almost spluttered with laughter. There was no way to know how to respond to such high adoration from such a person. "Well…" he murmured, feeling his cheeks burn. "That's just…lovely…" Awkwardly, he buried a hand in his hair. He remembered the early days of their marriage, when he had always felt uneasy in Brandon's presence. In a strange kind of way, it was almost pleasant to revisit the past in this way. He remembered the slow, gentle way he had fallen in love with Brandon over time. He had never thought he was experience such a love, based on mutual respect, a love that was unselfish, patient, and understanding. A love that would always be there.

Realising that he had been standing and gazing at his husband for far too long, Robin snapped back into action, for desperate want of something to break the tension. "These words mean the world to me." he gabbled. Then, without a second thought-his hand darted out once more to take Brandon's. As he felt that familiar cool, pale skin on his, he felt that he could weep. "And-and so do you."

Brandon did not respond to this in words. However, as his fingers closed even tighter around Robin's, he did not need to. The slightest sharp intake of breath escaped his lips, Robin's heart was warm for the first time in weeks. Before Robin's well, in the centre of Flea Bottom, Robin could do nothing but squeeze his husband's hand back, and blink away the emotion misting over his eyes.

Then, at long last, Brandon spoke once more.

"There is somewhere else I would like us to visit."

* * *

"Septa Myrra!"

Robin grinned as the burned door of the orphanage creaked open to reveal the familiar veiled woman in her habitual vestments of the faith.

"My prince!" Her own careworn face stretching into a smile, she inclined her head slightly by way of respect, before holding out her arms in welcome. By now, she had become quite the old friend. Nonetheless, there was a definite note of surprise in her tone. "We weren't expecting to see you today! But how glorious that you are here. Come in-the children are just having their lunch-"

"I hope you don't mind." Robin interrupted her, taking a step to one side. "I've brought someone with me this time."

Sitting behind him, his head held high, and his usual expression on his face, was Brandon.

As soon as she realised that the king himself had materialised in her doorway-Septa Myrra's eyes almost popped out of her head. Her mouth hung open for a few seconds, gaping in total disbelief-before she dropped a curtsey, bowing her head low. To be faced with a familiar prince was one thing. But to suddenly meet the reigning monarch, without the slightest bit of warning…that was quite another. "Y-Your Grace!"

"Septa Myrra." Brandon greeted her flatly, giving her a small nod. "The Prince Consort has told me of your tireless work caring for this city's orphans. Your dedication is an example to us all. On behalf of the realm, I thank you."

Such praise from the king was altogether too much for the simple Septa. After straightening up without elegance, her mouth retained its new "O" shape. It was so funny to see someone look at Brandon as if he was terribly intimidating. These days, Robin almost found it humorous. But he did not want to be so unkind as to laugh, and so, with a delicate cough, he defused the situation with a smile.

"Can we come in?"

* * *

Robin had no idea how long Brandon had been intending on staying at the orphanage, but, without either of them especially noticing, their visit stretched on throughout the entire afternoon, and did not end until the sky had turned pink once more.

It was a wonderfully busy day, and one of the best that Robin had spent in a long while. There was always plenty to do at the orphanage. Every time he visited, he made a point of walking around the entire establishment, checking for any furniture that needed replacing, any small thing he could do to improve the place. And so, it was on a brightly coloured rug, rather than on bare, splintering floorboards, that Robin sat with the children to listen to Septa Myrra read from the Seven Pointed Star. He had loved simply sitting still, letting the words wash over him without having to concentrate on any taxing business of the state. It had been such a long time since he had last been able to properly relax.

When the children were allowed outside into the courtyard to play, no longer did they have to make do with sticks and stones, but they had an array of toys to play with, including dolls, balls, hoops, and even little wooden sparring swords. Robin had been intending only to watch, but little Alys, still rather naïve to the fact she was interacting with royalty, had dragged him by the hand into the playground, and was painstakingly introducing him to each of her rag babies. As he listened to her sweet little voice chatting contentedly away, so different to the haunted girl he had found wandering the streets alone so long ago, her mop of dark hair brushed into submission and her dress clean, Robin failed to recall a nameday that had ever brought him so much happiness. Even the most extravagant of gifts was nothing compared the joy he felt in his soul that he had managed to make someone else's life better.

All the while, Brandon had been an observer, silently watching with Pod by his side. He had not spoken, nor drawn any attention to himself as he watched Robin with the children, a strange expression on his face. The inhabitants of the orphanage on the whole ignored him; whether they simply paid no mind to him, or whether his staring eyes caused them to give him a wide berth, he had been left to his observations. Still, as he stole little glances at him, Robin could tell that his husband was happy. There was a certain glint in his eye that all others were blind to, a certain warm softness in his face every time their eyes met. As he looked up from Alys' dolls to give him a tiny, secret smile, Robin felt as though his heart was ready to burst.

"…and this one is friends with this one…" Alys was explaining, handing Robin yet another of her new, beloved rag babies. "…but _these_ ones are friends with each other. They don't like the other ones."

"Really?" Robin nodded, taking her incredibly seriously-though he could not keep the shine out of his eyes. Once more, he caught Brandon's eye across the courtyard and beamed.

"…and then _this _one is the queen, and all the others have to do what she says." Alys was saying, waving the biggest of her dolls. "But that one wants to be queen too. And I'm not sure what's going to happen in the end." She scratched her head thoughtfully.

"It still sounds like a good story." Robin said, gently encouraging. "Do you like stories?"

Alys nodded wildly, her bushy hair bouncing on her shoulders.

All at once-Robin had a bit of an idea. He giggled slightly at his own daring-before placing a hand on Alys' shoulder and turning her to face Brandon. Pointing straight at him, he whispered into her ear:

"You know, I know someone who is _really_ good at stories…"

Robin wished he had an painter who could have captured the exact moment Brandon had realised that a small child with an armful of dolls was heading right for him. Though his face barely altered to the untrained eye, Robin could see his eyes growing wide, his eyebrows raising slightly. Indeed, Robin had to clap his hands over his mouth to avoid laughing out loud. Brandon the Broken, who had faced off against the Night King without so much as flinching, looked positively terrified of a little girl.

Robin watched as Alys put the question to him, blinking up at him with those big, round eyes. But he knew his husband almost as well as he knew himself. Despite his wariness, despite his lack of contact with children and general cluelessness-Brandon would never be able to refuse her. And so, he simply watched as Alys took a seat cross-legged at his feet, and began to listen, enraptured. The sight was almost too much for Robin to bear. Whatever he first seemed like, underneath that near impenetrable shell…Brandon was the sweetest person in the world.

Before long, a bevvy of other children, who had spotted something going on, began to gravitate towards the storyteller, sitting down beside Alys to hear. Then a few more. And a few more. Before ten minutes had passed, it seemed as though half of the orphanage were gathered quietly around the king, listening to his tales of knights, of noble ladies, of magic, and mysteries. No dragons, though. Not one dragon was mentioned.

Robin could do nothing but watch, and try not to weep. He found himself standing beside Septa Myrra, who looked just as shocked at what was happening in her establishment as Brandon was himself.

"He is so sweet with them!" Robin gushed to her, his hands clasped to his cheeks as he watched his husband with pride.

"Really?" The Septa frowned slightly, though not unpleasantly so. "He looks as if he is being tortured."

"Oh, that's just his natural expression." Robin breezed dismissively. He could feel a lump rising in his throat, and blinked as hard as he could to quell the tears welling dangerously high in his eyes. He remembered Brandon's last letter, still folded neatly in the pocket of his cloak, that had protested that he found himself unlovable. Perhaps the next time Brandon thought such things about himself, he would remember this day. "I think this will do him the world of good…"

Now, his heart was too full for another word. He simply made his way over the courtyard, swallowing the last of his tears, and sat down blissfully with the children to listen to Brandon's stories.


	60. Changes

**Hello all! My goodness, welcome to the final chapter! How did this happen? I feel as if I only started this yesterday. **

**I would like to thank every one of you sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, for reading. I have adored having you along, and have loved reading your comments too! Honestly, my starting point for this fanfic was to try and make two rather...interesting, let's say...characters likable, and I find it absolutely brilliant how many of you have warmed to this strange pairing! It has certainly been an absolute pleasure for me, and I have loved developing this. **

**Once more, many thanks, and best wishes xxx**

* * *

"Truly," said Brandon, the moment the squire had closed the chamber door behind them. He could not quite describe the way he felt; full and light simultaneously. "I cannot remember an afternoon I have enjoyed so much since I was a child." Delving for once into his own memories, he recalled his afternoons at Winterfell, after his lessons with Maester Luwin. Jon and Robb teaching him to shoot arrows…running around after Arya, who was always that little bit faster…climbing the high stone walls…he was certain that, until his father had died, he had been a gloriously happy child. And he had never known just how good he had it.

"It was such a wonderful idea!" Robin chirped back, scurrying over to the wine jug and pouring himself a cup. "I cannot think of a better way to have spent my nameday." He turned back to Brandon, taking a long sip. "You'll be twenty in a few months' time. Perhaps we can do this again!"

"Perhaps we can." Brandon agreed, the enthusiasm in his heart not quite reaching his face. But Robin smiled enough for both of them. A wave of relief washed over Brandon as he remembered what it felt like to believe he would never see that smile again…and now, he prayed, he would see it every day. "If it is not asking too much, can I possibly trouble you?" He gestured at the wine jug.

Robin gave a slight double-take. "I didn't think you partook?"

"Yes. Well." Brandon gave the tiniest shrug. "Times change."

Beaming now, Robin poured a second cup and brought it over to his husband with a slight giggle, before sitting down on the chair opposite him. "I knew we'd break you in the end."

"Thank you." Brandon murmured as he took the cup, raising it to his lips and sipping. He still wasn't sure he quite enjoyed the taste-the Dornish red Robin so liked was rather too sweet for him. Still, he drank companionably, relishing simply sitting with his husband once more, and seeing him happy. "That's not really surprising, though. It is in my name, after all."

"In your name?" Robin blinked at him, his large eyes rather vacant.

"Brandon the Broken?" Brandon prompted him.

"Oh!" Robin spluttered into his cup, goggling at Brandon as if he had just grown another head. "By all the gods, did you just make a _joke_?"

"I suppose I probably did."

But this only made Robin laugh harder. "Oh darling, you don't even realise how funny you are! Gods, I missed you…"

Brandon wasn't certain that he followed-but seeing and hearing Robin laugh, even at his expense, was worth everything to him. Especially as he had called him "darling" once again, even it had seemed to just slip out. He hadn't realise just how much he missed such a simple thing as that…Then, realising they had both forgotten, he raised his cup. "To you. On your nameday."

Likewise, Robin raised his, along with his eyebrow. "To making changes."

They both drank deeply, reflecting upon the last few weeks. Sitting in Brandon's chamber-_their _chamber-together once more, he could almost forget that their separation had even occurred. Of course, it was important to remember it, so that he would never make the same mistake again. But the days without Robin seemed to get further and further away by the moment, and all he could think about were all the days to come…

"I really did miss you, you know…" Robin was saying, setting down he cup. He reached over, and took Brandon's hand. "And I appreciate all you are doing. In light of that…I'm really glad to be back."

"And I am glad you are back." Brandon said, meaning it. He paused. Although it was against his nature, he forced himself to continue. "I felt I was half a man without you. And I shall not rest until I have redeemed myself in your eyes."

Robin gave him a small, sad smile. "I can tell." Then, he squeezed his hand, meeting his eyes. "But after what you did today…I am powerless to resist telling you once more how much I love you. And that I don't think I ever truly stopped." He pressed his lips together, his eyes very soft. "I'm sorry too. I know I must have put you through the seven hells."

"Don't be sorry." said Brandon instantly. "You have nothing to apologise for. You did what you needed to do." He paused. "And I love you too." he added, quickly. Never let it be said that he did not learn from his regrets.

"Thank you for saying that…" Robin took another long drink, gazing out of the window at the darkening sky outside. It was already getting rather late…true to form, he had to stifle a little yawn. "Do you know? I do not think I have slept well since that last night in the tent…"

Brandon felt a strange tugging sensation inside. He gave a simple nod of agreement, finding words rather beyond him. He caught on to what Robin was suggesting, alright-but he had to be patient. As much as he longed to have his husband back in his bed, he had to let Robin come to him.

"I never sleep well on my own…" Robin muttered into his cup-before his eyes darted back up to Brandon's. "And I certainly don't want to sleep alone on my nameday."

He was coming to him rather quicker than Brandon had dared hope for. And it was nothing short of brilliant. He felt a warm glow inside as he looked at Robin, thinking only of how much he loved him, and how heavenly it would be to hold him once more… "Of course. This chamber-and that bed-is yours as much as mine."

"Yes." Robin agreed, looking rather relieved. Then, unable to wait another moment, he set down his wine cup and hurried forward, throwing his arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek. The moment he did so, every last piece of tension between them seemed to melt away to nothingness. "Oh Bran, how awful it has been! I cannot tell you how much I missed you…"

Brandon could do nothing but wrap his arms carefully around him, closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth of his touch, the feel of him as they embraced, his smell…it was nothing short of _everything._ "I love you…" he whispered into his shoulder, his voice barely audible-but Robin heard alright. It was the reason he stopped his mouth with another kiss.

"I love you too…" he breathed when it finally broke-before launching instantly into the next. And the next. And the next.

Brandon's head swam more dizzily with each new kiss, marvelling at how they flowed so seamlessly into one another, so it felt as though he no longer had need of breath, or touch, or any sensation apart from Robin. Until Robin, he had never been kissed at all. But now-he realised just how much he had missed out on. This did not feel like the chaste, loving kisses they ordinarily exchanged, even at the best of times. This was…something entirely different. Something far deeper. As Robin buried his hands in Brandon's hair, pulling even closer, kissing him ever harder…there was a sort of desperation behind them that Brandon had never known before. A desperation that was something entirely new…

"You know…" Robin whispered, cupping his face in his hands. "…it is my nameday, after all…" He paused to kiss him again, his lips almost biting. Such a new, and glorious, sensation sent all the blood rushing out of Brandon's head. "I'm sure I can think of something else I would really…really like to do…" At this-his lips moved down to Brandon's neck.

"Er…" Brandon's voice came out significantly higher than it ordinarily did. He no longer felt himself at all…all he wanted to do was to…Still, as he stroked Robin's hair, fear bubbled inside him. "Robin? I-I'm not sure if…I mean…I…" Words utterly failed him.

"_Darling_." Robin paused, pulling back for a moment-much to Brandon's dismay. "I refuse to believe that there is absolutely nothing I can do for you. And even so…there is never any harm in trying…"

"_Well_…" Brandon was finding it significantly difficult even to _think_. "When you put it like that…" He searched desperately for something to say. "And, I suppose, with all the time you have spent in Gulltown, you must be something of an expert."

At this-Robin pulled back once again, his mouth falling open in shock-though his eyes were shining. "What business is it of yours how much time I have spent in Gulltown?" he questioned him, pretending to be offended.

"I only meant…I have seen it." Brandon gestured vaguely with his hands.

"_Seen_ it?" Robin narrowed his eyes.

"Yes." Brandon was all innocence.

"You _pervert_!" Robin cried, giving him a friendly shove-though he couldn't help giggling. "That's what you're doing all that time on the battlements!"

"What?" Brandon shook his head vehemently, feeling his cheeks growing hot "No! I didn't mean-it wasn't as if I-"

But Robin was still laughing fit to burst. "Oh Bran, you look like a beetroot!"

Brandon tried to arrange his face into something dignified, trying to ignore the fact he felt as if his skin was on fire.

"Awh, look at that _face_!" Robin chuckled, stroking his cheeks. "You're all grumpy now…"

"I am the _Three Eyed Raven_." Brandon droned, trying to explain himself. "I am a vessel of ancient magic, which-"

"-makes you all mystical and grumpy, yes." Robin beamed at him adoringly, kissing his burning forehead. "You know I don't care about all that. You're just my…_strange_ …but utterly beautiful, sweet, and lovely Bran. And I wouldn't have you any other way."

Brandon did not have the slightest idea what to say or do next. And so, he was more than grateful when Robin started to kiss him again. And kiss him. And kiss him…

* * *

"Do you know what?" said Tyrion, setting his near-drained wine cup down on the desk and stretching. It was getting late; far too late to be dealing with state matters. He was more than ready to retire to the chamber of the hand… "If someone had told me six months ago that _Robin Arryn_ was exactly what the crown needed, I would have told them that they were mad. Or else, extremely drunk."

Samwell Tarly gave a soft chuckle, closing the book of accounts before him with a thud. "I knew it. I always had faith in him." He could not help but look a little smug.

"You alone." said Tyrion darkly. Then, he clapped his hands. "But even the best of us must sometimes eat our words." He paused, gazing out at the black sky outside the window. "I'm not sure a few acts of charity are going to wipe Drogon from the minds of the realm, but they are certainly a good place to start. The crown's reputation has never mattered more…and, right now, I believe that it can be salvaged."

"Most things in life can be salvaged." said Sam quietly, a word-wise look in his eyes, which Tyrion found it in him to return. Half-sarcastically, and preparing himself for all the work that was still to come, he raised his cup in a toast.

"To changes. May always they ruin our plans and schemes in the best possible way."

"Yes." Sam agreed. He did not have a cup to raise, and so, rather sheepishly, he raised his ink bottle with an apologetic smile. "To change."

* * *

_Much later._

* * *

"Well…" Brandon breathed, lying back on the pillows with a most extraordinary look on his face. "I didn't hate that."

Robin could not help but laugh rather uproariously, burying his face in his shoulder. Perhaps it was the wine that had set his mind in a beautiful cloudy haze…or perhaps, it was something else. "I'm going to take that as high praise." He leaned up to kiss him, snuggling close. Did Brandon even realise just how funny he was? And being so close to him, in every possible way, was heaven. "I love you so much…"

Brandon was silent for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling. There was a certain glittering in his eyes that Robin had never seen there before…and yet, when he turned to look at him, they were the most incredible sight he had ever witnessed. But the words that came out of Brandon's mouth next quite struck all other thought from his mind.

"_Marry me_."

Robin wondered for a moment whether he had heard him correctly. Then, as the words sank in-he frowned slightly, confused.

"Darling…we are already married. Remember?"

"No…" Brandon shook his head. He reached out, and took Robin's face carefully in his hands, looking straight into his eyes. "Not like before. In the Sept, with the entire kingdom watching, and you utterly miserable. In the light of the Seven. _No_. I want you to marry me properly…" He stroked Robin's cheeks, the picture of sincerity. "Because you want to…because _we_ want to." His eyes shone brighter than ever. "I want to travel to the North, my love, and marry you in the godswood at Winterfell. Before the Weirwood tree. In the sight of the Old Gods."

Robin could scarcely believe what he was hearing. The very thought of such a thing…the sheer romance and beauty…it brought tears to his eyes.

Brandon was still gazing at him, waiting for an answer.

"_Yes_." Robin whispered, without the slightest moment of hesitation. "_Yes_. Of course I will." A laugh of pure joy bubbled out of him as he bent to kiss him again, his heart soaring. "Oh Bran…I don't think I have ever been quite so happy in my life!"

"Neither have I…" murmured Brandon. He buried his fingers in Robin's hair once more, gazing at him rather fiercely. "I thank you, my love, my Robin...For everything."

Robin was quite beyond words. All he could do was snuggle closer, thinking only of beautiful Weirwood trees and snow as far as the eye could see…

"It will be good to visit Sansa." said Brandon, wrapping his arms as tightly around him as he had strength for. "And we must travel via Greywater Watch. I owe someone an apology…"

The second part of the declaration did not strike Robin so much as the first. "Sansa?" he exclaimed, his eyes almost popping out of his head. "Oh gods. I should be ever so nervous to see her again. I was perfectly monstrous to her when she stayed in the Eyrie…"

After a short silence-a strange sort of sniff escaped Brandon. "Well. _Yes_. You were."

Robin turned to his husband, ready to shoot a witty and reproachful remark back at him-but something stopped him entirely in his tracks. For something completely unthinkable had happened. Something Robin had never believed he would see, as long as he lived. Something which assured him that life with Brandon would never cease to amaze him.

Bran was smiling.

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
